


Our Own Kind of Music

by ItsADrizzit, WhiteHaru37



Series: Fairy Tale Tennis Life [2]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alexander Zverev/Marcelo Melo (background), Angst with a Happy Ending, Audio Book, Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Gael Monfils/Elina Svitolina (background), Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 3-3.5 Hours, Podfic Length: 4-4.5 Hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsADrizzit/pseuds/ItsADrizzit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteHaru37/pseuds/WhiteHaru37
Summary: Stefanos is willing to admit that maybe, perhaps, he has just a little crush on Nick Kyrgios. Trouble is, he has no idea what to do about it.Nick is doing everything in his power to keep his distance from Stefanos, because he's the one person in the world Nick doesn't want to ruin. Trouble is, nothing about this night is making that easy.In which Stefanos has a crush, Nick is continuously (but mostly accidentally) an unnecessary asshole, and the women in their lives are the true heroes of this relationship.
Relationships: Nick Kyrgios/Stefanos Tsitsipas
Series: Fairy Tale Tennis Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470707
Comments: 28
Kudos: 7





	1. Podfic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70/gifts).



> Set in-between [Diego and the Seven Giraffes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878598) and [Doc and the Huntsman: After the Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421434). You don't really need to read those two in order to understand this, but you'll get more context if you at least read Diego and the Seven Giraffes first.
> 
> This was written and recorded for [eafay70](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70) as a birthday gift in 2020.

  
Cover art by: [ItsADrizzit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/itsadrizzit)

Non-music version:  


Music version:  


**Download** :  
Non-music version:  
[mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/rvno3aszi9g0gui/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_NoMusic.mp3?dl=0) [66.3 MB, 03:51:45]  
[m4b audiobook](https://www.dropbox.com/s/iz8kxnw7k8odgpy/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music.m4b?dl=0) [171 MB, 03:51:45]

Music Version:  
[mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/uqhop0iaqu60qvw/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_music.mp3?dl=0) [112 MB, 04:04:45]  
[m4b audiobook](https://www.dropbox.com/s/tvd5wtmcp2j3wod/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music%20_music.m4b?dl=0) [180 MB, 04:04:45]


	2. Stefanos

**Author's Note **: There is, as has become custom, a Spotify playlist to accompany this fic. I've embedded it below.****

****  
****

****  
**   
**

**Podfic**

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/v3fpaccqvc5qmok/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter1_music.mp3?dl=0) [9.16 MB, 00:20:00]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/knf1wrn5b27zr6u/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter1.mp3?dl=0) [5.51 MB, 00:19:21]

Stefanos had lost count of how many times in the past few hours he’d stood in this particular location, framing up a nearly identical shot.

Around him, in the backyard of Sascha’s Tennis Paradise—as the residents of the enormous Monte Carlo estate had taken to calling it—the party was in full swing. People were talking and laughing and dancing. The air was heavy with bass beats and synthesizers and everything was lit with an enchanting golden glow.

And Stefanos had spent the evening taking it all in through the view screen of his camera.

Although the guests of honour had departed hours ago, a crowd of their friends had stayed behind to celebrate the wedding of Diego Schwartzman and Dominic Thiem. Or, rather, _Prince_ Diego Schwartzman and _Prince_ Dominic Thiem.

It had been a peculiar and highly eventful week.

Stefanos had been asked by Diego and Dominic if he would do them the honour of serving as their official photographer and videographer. He’d agreed, of course. It was probable that he would have recorded the event anyway. Somehow, he always found himself more comfortable observing the world through his camera lens.

The camera lens which was pointed, not for the first time that evening—or even the fifteenth, Stefanos had to admit—at the enigmatic and highly enticing figure of Nick Kyrgios.

Nick was surrounded by small group of people, all of them smiling and laughing. Elina and Gael were dancing together, Gael’s face contorting through a series of increasingly more absurd expressions as they both stared into the phone Elina held out in front of her. Beside them, Nick, too, was dancing, both hands flung up in the air, his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth as he grinned and swayed back and forth to the music blaring from the speakers that had been set up around the garden.

Like most of the guests, he was clad in formal attire for the wedding, but throughout the course of the afternoon, Stefanos had observed him stripping down into only the bare essentials of clothing—first discarding his suit jacket and then rolling up the sleeves of his perfectly tailored dress shirt. The shirt—a departure from the traditional crisp white to one with an orange-hued floral pattern that complemented the warm copper tones of his skin in a way that definitely made Stefanos feel things—had now been untucked, and the ends hung rumpled and disheveled around his hips.

Nick was everything Stefanos wasn’t. They both shared a Greek heritage on their father’s side, but as far as Stefanos could discern, that was where their similarities ended. Setting aside Nick’s physical differences, their very personalities seemed to be on opposite ends of every spectrum. Where Stefanos tended to be quiet and considerate and thoughtful, Nick leaned more towards the boisterous, commandeering, and—if the press and Stefanos’s father were to be believed—discourteous or even downright rude. Stefanos understood the rationale behind these opinions, but he’d learned over the past few days that there was more to Nick than most people credited him.

For one thing, Nick had been the one to warn them against the actions of Evil Prince Fabio. He had even gone so far as to work against Fabio and help them all wake Diego from his magical slumber. Beneath his rough, arrogant, and disrespectful exterior, Stefanos had seen a kind, caring, generous person with a big heart. Doubly so if you happened to be among those he counted as his friends.

Stefanos… was not.

Not that he and Nick were enemies. More like he wasn’t entirely certain that Nick was more than passively aware he existed.

“You should just go talk to him. You know, actually _ask_ him for a photo instead of standing around sneaking photos of him like a creep.”

Stefanos couldn’t help his laugh as he lowered his camera to his chest and turned to face one of his oldest friends. There was no sense in trying to pretend she was wrong about him and Nick. She’d been able to read him like an open book for at least a decade, and he’d long since given up on trying to stand on pretense or ceremony with her.

It was impossible to recall a time that Maria Sakkari hadn’t been a part of his life. They’d grown up together. Both of them came from tennis families; their mothers good friends who had encouraged them to play together as soon as they’d both learned to hold a racquet.

“I’ve never known you to hesitate at asking anyone for a photograph,” she continued. “Even, you know, complete strangers you see on the street. So…?”

It was true. He spent the majority of his non-tennis hours wandering around whatever spot on the globe he happened to be occupying at the moment, photographing and recording anything and everything that he found intriguing or somehow beautiful. Sometimes those things even included passers-by or other people he’d never met before. Yet speaking with those people—complete strangers who had no stake in his life and who he’d likely never see again—felt a thousand times easier than walking up to Nick Kyrgios and asking if he could take his photograph.

Even as the official event photographer.

Maria let out a huff of a laugh, then shifted closer and leaned the top of her head against his bicep. “I get it.”

“You do?” He wrapped his arm around her back, gathering her in, his hand coming to rest on her bare shoulder.

“I mean, not about Kyrgios. Like… don’t get me wrong, the boy is gor-ge-ous, but… I don’t know, he’s not my type. But! You should absolutely go talk to him. Because he obviously _is_ your type.” She punctuated her last point by poking her index finger into his chest.

“I don’t think I have a type. Do I?”

“You don’t go to your friends’ wedding and stand in the shadows taking eight thousand pictures of someone who’s not even _involved_ in said wedding if they aren’t your type.”

Stefanos rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was new to all of this—physical attraction, potentially romantic and almost certainly sexual feelings about someone. He’d never been in a relationship; hadn’t ever asked someone on a date or kissed someone. He’d never even wanted to. For him, tennis had been his focus and photography and vlogging had been his outlet, and he’d never needed anything else. He knew most tennis professionals could find and maintain romantic relationships and spouses and even children, but to him, all of that had always felt like an unnecessary distraction. For the time being, he’d much prefer to go through his life on his own—or, as much on his own as a professional athlete with a team of people traveling with him everywhere he went could get.

Now… as his whole body thrummed with sensations he’d never felt before, or at least never so strongly that he couldn’t just ignore them and move on, he was starting to reconsider his position on things.

“I find him… intriguing,” he said after a long pause.

Nick had moved on from his dance video with Gael and Elina and was now leaning against one of the pillars supporting the makeshift pavilion that had been set up in the corner of the garden, staring intently at his phone, his thumb mindlessly scrolling over the screen. He was beautiful, practically a work of art, and Stefanos didn’t want to look away.

As if he could feel Stefanos’s eyes on him, Nick looked up from his phone screen, gaze seeming to track directly to his, their eyes locking across the expanse of the garden. Stefanos knew this was impossible, but nonetheless, he felt his cheeks start to warm, and jerked his eyes away.

He shifted his focus to Maria, forcing a grin as he inclined his head to look down at her. “And, I am willing to admit that I also find him… what did you say…?” He slid his voice into the higher-pitched parody of hers he liked to use whenever he was setting her up for a good teasing. “Gor-ge-ous.”

“Ha. If you think he’s gorgeous and intriguing, then why won’t you go talk with him?”

“I think you have answered the question with your question. Engaging Nick in conversation appears straightforward when considered from a theoretical viewpoint, but when I attempt to persuade myself to commit theory to action, I find that I am unable to do so.”

“You want to speak with him because you like him, but because you like him you cannot speak with him.”

“I believe so, yes. Depending, of course, on your definition of the word ‘like.’”

She turned towards him with a smile, ducking out from beneath his arm and taking his hand in her own. “Just go talk with him. Get to know him. You’re not accomplishing anything by standing around here thinking about talking to him.”

“Correct,” Stefanos said. “But I do not think he will reciprocate my feelings. So, all that I would accomplish by speaking with him is confirming the negative outcome that I anticipate but am currently unable to prove, therefore allowing myself the hope that said outcome may potentially not come to pass.”

“Why do you think he won’t like you?” Maria asked. “Everyone likes you. Wait. Did he say something to you?”

“No,” Stefanos admitted, although he couldn’t help but smile at the shift in her tone; instantly moving from that of a kind but confused friend to one that signified her willingness to step up and fight for his honour. He appreciated that about her. Although they both knew that neither would ever ask the other to face a challenge in their stead, they also knew that the other stood ready to do so, whether asked to or not.

In short, as his friends and housemates liked to say, he and Maria had each other’s backs.

“It’s not that,” he said. “He’s never been unkind to me. We’ve had admittedly few interactions, even through the events of the past week. It’s just…”

He gestured over to Nick, whose arm was now slung casually around the shoulder of the woman who had appeared beside him. She had been his recurrent companion throughout the evening, the two of them once again pressed close together as though it was their natural state of existence.

As far as Stefanos knew, it was.

Were he ever asked for a single word to describe Ajla Tomljanović, Stefanos decided it would be “strong.” She was fit—well-developed shoulder and arm muscles fully on display in her sleeveless gown—but it was more than that. Ajla radiated confidence and tenacity and a sheer, dynamic presence that made her more beautiful than any of her, admittedly pleasing, physical attributes alone ever could.

Tonight, she looked truly stunning in an ink-blue dress that fitted every curve of her tall, lean body. Her dark hair had been piled up atop her head, loose strands falling casually down to frame her face.

“There is no reason that Nick should want to spend time with me. Especially not… romantically. He surrounds himself with beautiful women, all of them likely far more experienced sexually and romantically than me. Today, as you can see, is no different.”

“What? Nick and Ajla? Those two aren’t together anymore. They broke up like… two years ago.”

“Oh,” Stefanos flicked another glance towards the pair. “I had heard this was the case, but I assumed because of their close physical proximity this evening that they had perhaps resumed their acquaintance.”

“Ugh. Men and their assumptions. It is possible for two people to be just friends, you know. I mean, you and I have been together all night and we’re not dating. Honestly. Even thinking about dating you is just… ugh. No offense.”

“No offense taken. I think,” Stefanos said. “But… none of this changes the fact that I am neither a beautiful woman nor experienced.”

“Okay.” Maria held up a hand, index finger extended. “First of all. You might not look like _that_ ,” she pointed at Ajla, “Because, really, who does? But you _are_ good-looking. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who would say otherwise. As for the rest… who cares?”

“Nick does, presumably,” Stefanos responded. “Even if we set aside his close connection with Ajla, Nick has still been known to speak often about the pleasing qualities of women in the crowd or those he meets on his travels. I have never heard him express the same sort of feelings towards individuals of other genders. Therefore, while Nick may, potentially, be my ‘type’,” he put the word in air quotes with his free hand, “I am almost certainly not his.”

Beside him, Maria let out a little huff of a laugh. “Are you for real? Have you not seen him with those quote-unquote ‘bros’ of his? I mean, come on. If someone told me he and Sock _didn’t_ have some kind of thing going on I’d laugh in their face and call them a liar.”

“Sock?” Stefanos inclined his head, pursing his lips and trying to think about any past interactions he’d observed between the two. “Hm. It is true that the two occasionally watch matches from one another’s box and have been known to play doubles together, but that is nothing unusual for two friends, is it? After all, you and I could be accused of the same.”

“Yeah,” Maria said. “So could Sascha and Marcelo. And we all know how that ‘best friendship’ goes.”

And, that was something, wasn’t it? She was certainly making a good argument for Nick’s potential romantic interest in more than just the female gender. Still, it didn’t give Stefanos a lot of hope where he himself was concerned.

“Okay. I am willing to concede that Nick may _potentially_ have interest in more than one gender. You are right. That hypothesis is still untested. But if he and Jack are involved then my advances would still be unwelcome.”

“I don’t think they’re actually together,” Maria said. “Probably. I’m not up on all the gossip from the ATP side of the circuit, after all.”

“Well then, if Jack is the sort of man Nick finds attractive then I still don’t fit his interests. We are absolutely nothing alike, from both an aesthetic and personality standpoint.”

At this, Maria groaned and tipped her head up towards the sky. “You are absolutely impossible; do you know that? Honestly, it’s a good thing I’m around to do everything for you.”

Before he could ask her exactly what she meant by this statement, her hand was tightening around his wrist and he was being dragged forward, the soles of his shoes slipping on the dewy grass as he was forced into taking staggering steps behind her.

And then they were under the roof of the pavilion, everything somehow brighter and louder and hotter, and Nick was standing directly in front of them.


	3. Stefanos

Music version:  
  
Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/5455ep7kxuv3ug1/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter2_music.mp3?dl=0) [5.02 MB, 00:10:58]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/8zqwzkttfo14kbt/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter2.mp3?dl=0) [2.84 MB, 00:09:56]

Stefanos felt his spine stiffen as adrenaline surged through his body, the feeling not dissimilar to the one he got when stepping onto the court at the beginning of a match he wasn’t confident he could win. His mouth felt dry and his heart was racing so hard that he couldn’t hear himself think. He looked down to the ground, then took a deep breath and tried to force himself to relax.

When he finally dragged his eyes up, Nick was staring at him, eyebrows raised.

As Stefanos took an instinctive step backward, his camera bumped against his chest. He grabbed it, grateful for its comforting weight in his hands. The plastic was cool against his sweat damp skin, and he gripped it tight, holding onto it like his life preserver in a world he felt like he might drown in.

He lifted the camera up towards Nick. “I was… um…”

_Think, Stefanos. Think. And breathe. He’s just another person. He’s a tennis player like you and a friend of your friends and you’re here to make a video just like you always do…_

And that was it.

“I’m here to make a video,” Stefanos said, the words pouring out of him on a rush of breath.

“What?” Nick asked, eyes narrowed in confusion as he leaned in closer.

“A video,” Stefanos said, shouting this time in an attempt to be heard above the din of the party. “Dominic and Diego asked me to make a video for their wedding. So… I thought maybe…”

Another deep, steadying breath, and he shifted even closer towards Nick, turning to the side so he could include Gael and Elina as well. “As I said to Elina and Gael earlier when they delivered their message, I thought it might be nice to have some statements for Dominic and Diego from their friends. Talking about… love… or… something. It can be… whatever you like. Or…”

He trailed off, his eyes dropping back towards the floor. He could feel his cheeks burning red hot but hoped everyone might just attribute it to the heat of the lights strung around the pavilion.

What was wrong with him? Ordinarily, he had no trouble speaking to people about his videos. He approached every one with a theme or an idea or a concept, and this one was no exception. He planned to capture the major events of the day, then cut the scenes together, interspersed with well-wishes and messages of support as well as advice on life together from the various wedding guests. He’d spent the entire day soliciting these messages, confidently strolling in and explaining the concept before asking people if they cared to offer a contribution. None of this should be difficult, so why was he struggling to even form the words?

A laugh sounded above the din of the party, deep and throaty, the noise of it ringing in Stefanos’s ears. He looked back up to find Nick nearly doubled over with laughter, fist pressed against his mouth.

Stefanos took two staggering steps backward, his cheeks burning even hotter now. His chest felt tight, like something was stretching and pulling at his ribcage, making it hard to draw in a full breath. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

Nick managed to get ahold of himself, straightening up and wiping at the corners of his eyes with his fingers.

“Wait,” Nick choked out between laughs. “Hold up, bro. I just… are you serious? You want me to say… what? Something about love? What the fuck would I know about that?”

Beside him, Ajla rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dickhead.”

He looked like he was about to protest but backed down under her continued glare.

“Jesus fuck,” he said instead, shaking his head. “Hey. Come here for a second.” He waved a hand in the air, motioning for Stefanos to come closer.

Stefanos didn’t move at first, his legs seemingly rooted into the grass where he stood. When he finally coaxed a response from them, it was a lurching step towards Nick, his whole body hot and tight and on edge.

Nick’s dark eyes were fixed on him, his mouth turned up at the corners in an amused smirk. Stefanos felt a peculiar sensation curl up low in his stomach. He shivered, despite the warmth of the evening and the hot flush that seemed to have overrun his entire body. He took another halting step forward, then another, until he was close enough to Nick that they probably could have leaned in and touched one another if they’d wanted to.

Not that they wanted to.

Or, rather, not that Nick wanted to. Probably. Stefanos, on the other hand, could think of nothing else.

His pulse raced as his gaze drifted from Nick’s eyes to the thin line of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones to his lips and then down to his chest, the curve of hard muscles visible beneath his shirt. Nick was… handsome and charming and alluring and oh, so tempting. Everything within Stefanos urged him to run his hand across the expanse of that chest. To feel the hard planes of his body. To know how it moved beneath his fingers. He lifted a hand out towards him, but stopped himself short, forcing it back down to his side.

“Can I ask you a question?”

The words startled Stefanos out of his ill-advised reverie, and he jerked backward, once again putting a safe distance between them. He forced himself to meet Nick’s eyes and give him what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Of course.”

Nick slid his arm away from Ajla’s shoulders and stepped towards Stefanos, re-closing the distance that Stefanos had just opened up. He resisted the urge to step away again.

“Do you ever just like… have fun?”

“Do I… what?”

Nick flashed him a grin full of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth that had Stefanos’s stomach doing a flip and his breath hitching in his chest.

“I’m serious, bro. All I ever see you do is play tennis and take videos, like… what kind of life is that? This is a party. Put down your camera and come chill. I don’t know. Have a drink or dance or something.”

The feeling of something cinching tight around his ribcage returned with a vengeance. For a moment, he wasn’t sure he could take in enough air to breathe, let alone speak.

He somehow managed to choke in a breath as warm fingers closed around his own. The grip was comforting and familiar. Maria’s hand, he realised, as he felt her fingers twine with his. She said nothing, just gave his hand a gentle squeeze and then let it go, but it was enough, her presence at his side a calming, steadying force. He felt his body unclench slightly. His camera was still clutched tight in his other hand, his fingers aching with the vice grip he’d been holding it in all this time, and he let it drop, the weight of it comfortable as it thumped against his chest, the strap tugging at the back of his neck.

“I… I can not,” he managed, choking the words out of his too-dry throat. “I’m… it’s as I said. Dominic and Diego asked me if I could make the video for them.”

“And they wouldn’t give you like two hours to actually fucking enjoy the party? I mean, first of all, it’s not like you’re some guy they hired to take pictures or whatever. You’re their friend. They don’t want you to have a good time at their wedding? Second of all, what do they care? They aren’t even here.”

“I… am enjoying the party,” Stefanos said. “I… derive great pleasure from creating videos. To me… this is a good way to appreciate the day. To make a video so we can all remember it later. Anyway, I don’t really like dancing, so… I would rather just make the video.”

Nick sucked in one cheek and stared at Stefanos out of the corners of his eyes for a few minutes, then abruptly nodded and stepped back to stand beside Ajla. “You’re a weird dude, you know that? But… alright. Whatever. If you get tired of your videos or whatever other weird as fuck hobbies you have and decide to actually have a good time at some point in your life, make sure you let me know.”


	4. Nick

Music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/r4w4cnzz5soh3y0/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter3_music.mp3?dl=0) [4.36 MB, 00:09:31]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/lwysxrqc6s2s7x2/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter3.mp3?dl=0) [2.54 MB, 00:08:53]

If anyone asked, Nick would never admit that he’d stared at Stefanos’s ass the entire time he was walking away.

Or… okay, he probably would admit it, because why the fuck not? Sure, Stefanos was _definitely_ not Nick’s usual type, but he’d be pressed to find anybody who wasn’t lying through their teeth if they said he wasn’t absolutely fucking model gorgeous with those long legs and lean body and that hair that begged you to run your hands through it, letting it tangle in your fingers and wrap up in your fist. Plus, as Nick had just learned, for better or worse, he smelled like a summer day just after it rained when everything in the entire world around you felt beautiful and alive.

Nick… sort of wished he _hadn’t_ just learned that, in fact. Because he definitely didn’t need to be over here thinking anything at all about Stefanos Tsitsipas. He was _really_ not the type of person Nick needed to get involved with. At all. They were basically completely opposite people.

For one thing, Stefanos fucking _loved_ tennis. He was good at it, really good, but so was Nick. The difference was that Stefanos _wanted_ to be good at it. He wanted to be better. He wanted to work as hard as possible at it every single fucking day of his life. His ranking _mattered_ to him. He busted his ass every time he stepped on a court. He ate, slept, lived, breathed, and adored that life.

Nick… well, Nick played tennis because he had bills to pay and foundation kids to help out and because what the fuck else was he going to do with his life?

And then there were the videos. Nick hadn’t been joking about that. He actually couldn’t remember a time he’d seen Stefanos without a camera in his hand any time he wasn’t on a tennis court. He made Instagram videos of his dinners for fuck’s sake. Like his whole life experience needed to come through a camera lens instead of, you know, actually enjoying yourself.

The thing about the videos, though, was that he was good at them. Like… really fucking good. And Nick would _seriously_ never admit that he’d actually subscribed to Stefanos’s YouTube channel—unless, of course, he could manage to pass it off as wanting to look at Stefanos because he was gorgeous and far too many of his videos featured him either lying in his bed or walking around the house in his goddamn underwear—but he’d definitely watched every single one of his videos, some of them more than once, and they were _good_. Not that Nick knew what art was, really, but he figured Stefanos probably had what it took to make some sort of documentary or something that people would actually buy.

Nick played basketball and used his Instagram to post screenshots of whatever song happened to be his jam at the time, but generally couldn’t be arsed to actually figure out how to include the audio of said song in the post.

On top of all of that, Stefanos was… like, genuinely, naturally a good person. He was super smart, and he honestly cared about everyone, as far as Nick could tell. Add to that his particular brand of wide-eyed innocence and the way he seemed to approach everything in life with a positive attitude and that fucking gorgeous smile, and not only was Nick absolutely obsessed, but he also knew he needed to keep half a world between the two of them at all times.

Because Nick was a good dude, but he was also cynical and hateful and selfish, and he ruined things.

And Stefanos Tsitsipas was one thing he didn’t want to ruin.

“Do you always have to be such a fucking asshole?”

The solid contact of Ajla’s fist against his bicep—which, honestly, he wouldn’t have minded except it almost made him drop his beer—was enough to make him finally drag his eyes away from Stefanos.

“You’re so aggro, Ajla, my god. This is why no one wants you around and I’m fucking stuck with you.”

“Wanker.”

“You started it.”

“The hell I did.”

And… okay. Maybe that was fair. But in his defense, when Stefanos had fronted up, hand in hand with Maria Sakkari no less, and then implied that he thought Nick and Ajla were any kind of couple who should be handing out their thoughts on stable and healthy relationships, Nick had sort of panicked.

It didn’t help that Stefanos was wearing a suit that made him look like a fucking GQ model. Then he’d started tossing his hair around and Nick had caught a whiff of whatever the fuck scent he was using that smelled like fucking heaven and had Nick half-hard in his shorts ready to shove him up against the nearest pillar and ram his tongue in that beautiful, beautiful mouth.

He supposed, in whatever weird way his fucked-up brain worked that he was trying to do Stefanos a favour. He wasn’t quite sure what the favour was, but he could at least let himself _think_ he’d had good intentions. Deep down, he knew, the part of him that just wouldn’t ever shut up and do what was good for him was trying to engage with Stefanos, like, ‘Hey, you should stop filming and come hang out and have fun and dance _with me_.’ And then the tiny sliver of his brain that was actually rational _tried_ to step in and tell the other part to shut the fuck up and leave well enough alone.

And what he’d been left with, as usual, was the part of his brain that turned him into the world’s biggest twat.

Probably just as well, though. Nothing would keep some distance between the two of them like Nick just being an unreasonable dickhead.

Well, that, and Maria Sakkari.

He didn’t know if Stefanos and Sakkari were together, although the way she’d been hovering at his side for pretty much the entire day seemed to indicate that they were. Then again, he and Ajla probably looked the same way, but that ship had sailed years ago. The only reason they were here together was to make sure neither of them had to go home alone. They’d learned long ago that they were better as friends who occasionally called one another for a hook-up.

Probably, Stefanos didn’t roll like that, though.

“What?” Nick asked. “That? Fuck that. Honestly, like… I was trying to do him a favour. He needs to loosen up. I’ve seriously never seen him have fun. Like… ever.”

At this, Elina leaned over, tipping her head to the side as she stared at him through narrowed eyes. “What are you talking about? Stefanos is always smiling and always laughing. He’s so happy. Unlike you who is always angry. I like him much better.”

Gael reached out and gave her a fistbump, the two of them dissolving into laughter.

“Fuck all of you. Like… it’s a fucking party. Bro is seriously working all the time. It has to be fucking exhausting. I was just trying to get him to take a fucking break.”

“Right.” Ajla said, her voice dripping with the special brand of sarcasm she saved just for him. “Because _you_ do two seconds of work and you’re completely spent.”

“Don’t be a bitch, Ajla.”

“Don’t be a twat, Nick.”

And that, of course, was met with even more laughter from Gael and Elina.

Nick shook his head at all of them, seriously contemplating extending his middle finger and slowly spinning in a circle. Or, he could just leave. He wasn’t one to turn down a good party, especially one that featured the fancy as fuck back garden of a seriously enormous house and all the free drinks he wanted, but he also definitely didn’t need to stand here and try to justify his non-existent feelings for someone he didn’t even need to think about.

“Whatever,” Nick said. “What the fuck do I care about Stefanos fucking Tsitsipas?”

“I don’t know, Nick.” Ajla flashed him a smirk that told him she knew _exactly_ what kind of bullshit he was on. “What the fuck _do_ you care?”


	5. Stefanos

Music version:  


Non-music version:   


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/7je1xk5wzcx2czf/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter4_music.mp3?dl=0) [11.8 MB, 00:25:54]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/rbmuxns851muavb/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter4.mp3?dl=0) [7.11 MB, 00:24:52]

“I do not know why I’m surprised,” Stefanos said, stalking off towards the house, ready to lock himself in his bedroom or the tape room and not emerge for the rest of the evening; possibly longer. His forced conversation with Nick had been every bit as embarrassing and demoralising as he had anticipated, and all he wanted to do was put the whole thing behind him.

“Honestly, neither do I,” Maria said, somehow managing to keep in step with him despite her heeled shoes and his quick pace. Stefanos would have taken the time to be impressed if he wasn’t so focused on getting away from Nick and the party and the people and into the house where he could sit down, alone, and process everything that had gone on over the course of the evening.

“Thank you. Your support is always appreciated.”

“I mean,” Maria said. “That Nick is… like that. Sarcasm is his love language, I think.”

“How would you have any knowledge whatsoever of Nick’s love language?”

“Did you not hear him? ‘Put your camera down and come dance or something.’ ‘If you get tired of taking videos and decide to have a good time, let me know.’ He basically asked you to hang out and dance with him and then instead of answering, you told him you hated dancing and ran away.”

“He called me weird. He said I was weird and boring and that all I do is take videos and that I don’t know how to have fun. And why shouldn’t he? He wasn’t wrong.”

The words tore out of him, cutting and biting, like invisible insects with shockingly sharp teeth. He hoped, somehow, that the night air would carry them away, never to be found again. That by speaking life into his feelings they would leave his mind and his body and float away from him so he wouldn’t have to be their unwilling keeper any longer.

“I told you what would happen. I told you I wanted to keep hold of my hope that it wouldn’t be so, but you dragged me there and it all unfolded just the way I was afraid it would, and now I _know_. That’s the worst part. I _know_ that I was right and that everything I was feeling was laughable. I was hoping for the impossible, as I said, but it was that hope that gave me the delusion of possibility.”

He fisted a hand in his hair, dropping his eyes to the ground as he let the strands tangle through his fingers, pulling them tight and focusing on the tug of pain at his scalp rather than the sharp ache in his chest and the prick of tears at the corners of his eyes.

Maria slid up beside him, pressing in close, one arm shifting to slip around his waist, her head pressing against his bicep once again that evening. He could feel the warmth of her skin radiating into his own, the familiar touch gentle and soothing

“I love your hope and your delusions,” she whispered. Although as far as Stefanos could tell this part of the garden was deserted, he appreciated the gesture; Maria keeping this just between them, private information shared between the closest of friends.

“That’s all they are,” Stefanos said, rubbing his fingers across his eyes, trying to wipe away any tears that threatened to fall. “Delusions. It is better that I learn this now so I can move past these feelings and return my focus to tennis.”

“Feelings are good,” Maria said. “Even when they don’t feel good. They’re normal… part of growing up. And… for what it’s worth, I don’t think it is just a delusion. I know what he said, and it was, well, rude, at the very least, but that’s how Nick is, you know that. So. To dismiss everything because of one bad interaction where Nick said something that could be viewed as hurtful is… I don’t know.”

“No.” Stefanos shook his head. Strands of his hair fell across his face and tickled at his skin, but he didn’t bother to brush them away. “I think it was him correctly evaluating the situation as well as me as a person. There is no reason Nick would want to spend time with me. We are, as I myself have contemplated at length this evening and over the course of the past few days, completely opposite people. There is no reason to believe that we would be even the slightest bit compatible. I should have trusted my observational instincts and not allowed myself even a sliver of hope that my hypothesis about the situation might be proven false.”

And, that was the way of things, wasn’t it? As painful as the realisation might be, he and Nick were, at first glance, completely unsuitable for one another. Nick Kyrgios might be beautiful, and Stefanos might feel drawn to him and the way he was a captivating study in paradox and contradictions, but that alone wouldn’t make them compatible, even as friends.

“Well, _I_ think you need to collect more data.”

Stefanos let his hands fall to his sides once more and turned to face Maria, eyes meeting hers as she smiled up at him.

“Collect more… data? Are you… implying that I should attempt to engage Nick in conversation yet again? To set myself up for more humiliation? No, thank you.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always going on about sample size? You had one conversation. Granted, it went… poorly, but… one isn’t a very comprehensive set of data points or whatever.”

“In this case, I don’t believe you are correct.”

“Can you prove it?”

The words were a challenge. They both knew it. Stefanos’s mind scientific and enquiring enough that he rarely gave up on anything as a ‘bad idea’ until he had put the proposal through extensive testing. This was the first time that Stefanos had actively attempted to engage Nick in a conversation of any sort, and although it had gone poorly and Stefanos had walked away feeling broken and bruised both emotionally and physically, Maria was right that this had only been _one_ instance.

Although Stefanos very much believed that he and Nick’s incompatibility was guaranteed, this was only a hypothesis, and in Stefanos’s experience, a hypothesis needed extensive testing before it could be effectively proven true or false. Still, that didn’t mean he knew how to—

“Stefanos! Hey!”

As usual, Stefanos heard Sascha before he saw him.

He looked around the garden, trying to pinpoint the direction the call had come from, until he finally caught sight of Sascha, Marcelo at his side, as was custom. Where one went, you could usually be sure the other would follow.

“Do me a favour,” Stefanos said, leaning down and speaking to Maria in a voice barely above a whisper. Sascha and Marcelo were still metres away, and he and Maria were conversing in Greek, but he still didn’t need to risk his friends finding out about his current situation with Nick. “Don’t tell Sascha and Marcelo about Nick.”

“They’re your housemates. They’re going to find out eventually.”

“Perhaps, but…” He flicked one last glance up at his friends. “For one thing, Sascha can’t keep a secret if you pay him, and for another they’re merciless in their teasing and I don’t really need to be reminded about my ill-advised and unreciprocated feelings at every opportunity.”

Before Maria could respond, Sascha was bounding toward them, ducking around behind so he could fling one arm around each of them, the weight pressing heavy against Stefanos’s shoulders.

“So,” he asked, his voice mock suggestive as he leaned forward, shoving his head into the space between theirs. “What are you two up to?”

Stefanos opened his mouth to give the factually correct although not entirely forthcoming answer of ‘I’m going inside to put my camera equipment away because soon there will not be enough light to film’ and completely disregard the ‘and almost certainly to stay there and hide from my problems that I rather wish hadn’t become problems,’ but Maria answered before he could form the words.

“Stefanos is having feelings and he doesn’t know how to deal with them, so he’s running away.”

“What the fuck?” Stefanos asked, his mouth dropping open as he stared down at her.

He switched the conversation back to Greek, knowing it was rude to speak in a language that not everyone present could understand, but desperately needing to keep what he was about to say just between them. “I was under the impression that we had agreed not to mention this to anyone else for the time being.”

“ _I_ never agreed,” she replied. “And anyway, I’m not going to listen to your pining about this for the rest of forever, so…”

She shrugged and turned to Sascha and Marcelo, switching the conversation back into English. “Stef has a crush and because he’s the world’s biggest dork he’s freaking out about it.”

At this, Sascha’s eyes went almost impossibly wide behind his plastic-framed glasses. “Oh my God, Stef. You? Actually _like_ someone? Really? This isn’t a joke or something?”

He leaned forward to peer around Stefanos, stretching side to side to look out into the crowd of people gathered in the garden. “Who is it?”

“I…” Stefanos felt the hot flush creeping up into his cheeks again. He found himself grateful that the light in this part of the garden was dim enough that no one would notice. Probably. “That information isn’t pertinent.”

“It might be,” Sascha said. “And anyway, I want to know.”

“You really do,” Maria chimed in. Stefanos turned to flash her a warning look but found himself instead staring at the side of Sascha’s face and had to settle for giving her a gentle elbow in the ribs instead. She yelped and leaned forward to glare at him around Sascha.

“Uncalled for,” she muttered to him in Greek then switched back to English to address Sascha and Marcelo. “Just saying. I bet if I gave you five guesses who it was you still wouldn’t get it right.”

Stefanos reached up and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face as he blew out a long breath. “Alright. I… admit that there is someone I find intriguing from both an aesthetic and intellectual standpoint. Although, I do not believe that whatever I may feel for them will ever be reciprocated. Therefore, my feelings, such as they are, as well as the identity of who they are directed towards are inconsequential.”

Sascha turned his face so he could narrow his eyes at Stefanos. “Not… reciprocated? They don’t… like you back?”

“No,” Stefanos said, his words coming out clipped around the edges. “In fact, they made it rather clear that they do not like me at all. Whichever meaning of the word ‘like’ you might be intending to use.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that,” Sascha said. “Everyone likes you.”

“It is statistically impossible for a single individual to be universally appreciated by every single other individual.”

“Whatever.” Sascha waved the hand that was still flung around Stefanos’s shoulders, the motion of it flickering in Stefanos’s peripheral vision. “You know what I mean.”

“ _I_ told him the same thing,” Maria said, ducking out from underneath Sascha’s arm and turning to face all three of them. “But he’s not listening to me. So… maybe you two can talk some sense into him.”

“O-kay,” Sascha said, dragging the word out into more syllables than Stefanos felt were strictly necessary. “What did… whoever this is… say. Like… exactly.”

Stefanos tipped his head backward to stare up at the darkening sky, the late-spring sunset moving through fuschia and gold as it turned the brilliant blue of daytime to the inky darkness of evening. Despite the re-cinching of the seemingly permanent band around his chest, he forced himself to recall Nick’s words to him a few minutes before.

The words, Stefanos had to admit, had stung. Ordinarily, at least at this point in his life, he worked hard to not worry overly much about the opinions of others. The pressures on his shoulders were already significant, despite his young age, and he knew there was no good way to continue making strides in his career if he let himself get wrapped up in the way others perceived him.

So why did Nick’s opinion of him carry so much weight?

‘ _You’re a weird dude, you know that? But… alright. Whatever. If you get tired of your videos or whatever other weird as fuck hobbies you have and decide to actually have a good time at some point in your life, make sure you let me know_.’

He still didn’t believe that the statements could in any way be construed as friendly, let alone an invitation for the two of them to spend time together, but he was willing to concede that Maria was correct, and he hadn’t fully tested his hypothesis. Besides, if it turned out that by some highly unlikely chance, she was right and Stefanos dismissed her out of hand and did not follow her recommended course of action, she would take every possible opportunity to remind him of it for the rest of his existence.

He slowly let out the breath he’d been holding and slid out from underneath Sascha’s arm so he could face all three of his friends.

“Sascha. Marcelo. In your experience, how does one go about determining whether they might be interested in exploring a potentially deeper relationship with someone? And then… determining whether the other person might be interested in exploring a reciprocal relationship?”

“I don’t know, Stef,” Sascha said. “I think… if you see someone and you like them, you just have to go for it, because you never know what might happen. You have to decide if it’s worth the risk. Okay, maybe it doesn’t work out, and… whatever, that sucks, and you move on. But… what if it does? I mean, that’s how it was with me and Marcelo.”

He stepped backward to stand beside Marcelo, staring adoringly up at him, their bodies slotting together as if they’d been carved to fit perfectly around one another.

Stefanos pressed his lips together, considering. Sascha’s perspective on the situation was appreciated, but he wasn’t sure this advice had led him to any further answers than he’d had a few moments ago.

Perhaps he needed to reframe the question.

“Okay. But… how do you know if what you are feeling for another person makes them, as you say, worth the risk?”

“I am… not sure I can explain that to you, Stefan,” Marcelo said. “It’s… a feeling. It’s different for everyone, I think.”

“How did it feel for you?”

“Easy,” Sascha said, his voice quieter than usual, more distant and contemplative. “It felt like everything all at once. Like my whole body was about to shut down, but also everything was turned up to eleven. One minute I was standing there joking around with my brother and the next I looked across the room and it was just…”

He paused then, angling his head slightly to look up at Marcelo. “Like my heart might explode out of me and… I don’t know. From the minute I saw Marcelo I thought ‘I have no idea who that is, but I need to know him.’”

At this, Marcelo let out a soft, choked noise. He stared down at Sascha, the two of them transfixed on one another, as though Stefanos and Maria and the party had all vanished, and they were the only two people in the garden. Sascha leaned forward at the same time that Marcelo tipped his head down and then they were kissing, their jaws working together in synchronised motion.

Stefanos felt his whole body tighten, every inch of him on edge. He knew he should look away, but instead, he stared at his friends, transfixed at the too familiar and usually ridiculously embarrassing sight. He’d seen it before. Anyone who lived in the house with them for any length of time had seen this more than once. But somehow, tonight, among the strings of lights and the romantic atmosphere of the day, it felt different. 

_I need to know him_.

Once again, Stefanos’s attention went unbidden to Nick.

Nick who had called him weird and boring; who had laughed at him and his videos.

Who, despite everything, Stefanos found highly captivating, both from an aesthetic standpoint and as a study in contradictions—the personality he portrayed through his public persona utterly at odds with the characteristics Stefanos thought he had perceived about Nick’s private self.

Sascha and Maria were both correct. Stefanos had no idea how things with Nick would turn out. It could be that they were as at odds as they appeared and nothing even close to friendship would grow between them. But… wouldn’t it be better to learn this information now then spend the remainder of the evening, and possibly the remainder of his life, not knowing?

Beside him, Maria gave an emphatic cough. “Any chance you two can do that… somewhere else?”

It was Sascha who slid back first, dragging himself slowly away from Marcelo. He didn’t go far, his hands still resting against Marcelo’s chest, their bodies tucked up tightly together. Marcelo straightened up, his hands sliding down to Sascha’s hips beneath his suit jacket.

“Sorry, I…” Marcelo said, then shook his head and grinned at them. “Well. I am not sorry, actually.”

“Neither am I,” Sascha said. “It’s my house. I can kiss Marcelo wherever I want.”

“I can’t believe you actually live with this,” Maria said, flicking a mock-disgusted look at Stefanos.

“It has become a routine part of daily life. Besides. It has enabled me to collect plenty of observational evidence on what to do in the event that I do enter into a consensual romantic relationship, despite having no direct experience of my own in these regards.”

“That is… a little bit disturbing, Stefan,” Marcelo said.

“But cute,” Sascha said. “And flattering. Marcelo! We’re relationship goals!”

“That… is perhaps not quite what I meant. But…”

Stefanos tipped his head to the side and considered his friends once more—the way their bodies seemed to fit together like they’d been engineered that way, their shared looks of sheer love and adoration towards one another. Whenever they were together, they collectively appeared happier and more at ease than the rare occasions he actually saw them separately from each other.

“Ultimately,” he continued, giving them both a wide grin. “Correct.”

“So… you’re going to go talk with…?” Sascha asked, leaning into the end of the question and staring at Stefanos expectantly, waiting for him to divulge more information. Stefanos didn’t oblige.

“Yes. I believe I will.”


	6. Nick

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/wr0r7cfn8v9553n/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter5_music.mp3?dl=0) [6.27 MB, 00:13:43]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/h3e9koclxi73lp2/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter5.mp3?dl=0) [4.41 MB, 00:13:02]

Nick tipped the last drops out of his beer bottle and dropped it into the crowd of empties on the table beside him. They weren’t all his for once—he definitely wouldn’t still be standing if they were—but he’d had his fair few.

Probably, he should stop drinking.

Then again, he should probably do a lot of things that he wasn’t currently doing.

He still hadn’t moved from the pavilion Sascha had set up for the event. His friends had come and gone, milling about the party, speaking to various groups, joining the crowd on the dance floor, or sitting on the benches lining the garden. Nick didn’t see any use in leaving the shockingly plush furniture that he assumed was rented and not stuff Sascha just happened to have sitting around his enormous house.

It was a good spot, near enough to get into the music, but not so close to the speaker that you’d wake up unable to hear out of one ear. More importantly, close enough to the bar that all he had to do was catch the bartender’s eye and hold up his empty and however many fingers corresponded to the number of drinks he wanted next.

He definitely hadn’t chosen it because it gave him the best view of the enormous garden so he could track Stefanos’s movements.

Movements that currently included him huddled up in a group with Melo and Zverev. And… ordinarily, Nick wouldn’t think anything of it, really. Because he shouldn’t. Because for one thing, what did he care, and for another, they were all housemates at this ridiculous palace of a home. Probably they were just talking through logistics of who was in charge of organising the cleaning in the fourth living room or some shit.

Except that Stefanos was still standing around basically hand-in-hand with Maria Sakkari. Who… Nick was tolerably sure didn’t actually live here, but also what the fuck did he know? The first time he’d gotten involved with any of these people was like… four days ago. It wasn’t like he knew anything about their lives.

And, honestly, even if they were dating or whatever, why was Nick fussed about it? He was supposed to be keeping his distance from Tsitsipas anyway.

It was for the best, really. For everyone. Nick didn’t know Maria well, but she seemed like a nice girl; the sort Stefanos could be proud to bring home to his parents and show off in the press. No one, especially not someone as infamously virtuous as Stefanos Tsitsipas, would ever accuse Nick of any of those things.

But whatever. It wasn’t like Nick even _wanted_ to be those things. He was here for a good time, not a long time. End of. Meeting parents, going on dates, doing all the things people in relationships did… that wasn’t Nick.

It _was_ Stefanos, though. So, it was good that he had someone in his life to do all of that with.

Nick should think about leaving. See if Ajla wanted to kick off and head back to his hotel and help him get out some of this sexual frustration he hadn’t asked for and never expected to build up at a wedding filled with the same people he saw every fucking time he decided to rock up to any sort of ATP event. But here he was, perving on Stefanos Tsitsipas and hoping no one noticed.

“Just go over there, grab him, and fuck him up against a wall already, damn.”

Ajla’s voice in his ear. He’d been so absorbed in trying to tell himself to stop staring at Tsitsipas that he hadn’t even heard her return from wherever she’d been.

Nick’s eyes didn’t move from where they were focused on Stefanos. “Rack off, Ajla. No one asked for your opinion.”

“Please. I know that look. I’ve seen enough people on the other end of it over the years, myself included.” She dropped down onto the sofa beside him, and shifted closer, their shoulders pressing together in a way that used to be intimate but now just sort of _was_. “Anyway, I don’t hear you denying that you want to?”

“Look at him. Who fucking wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. He’s not… I didn’t think you were into that whole wide-eyed innocence, boyish charm sort of thing.”

“Neither did I.”

Ajla didn’t say anything in response. She didn’t have to. The look she gave him from under her raised eyebrows spoke volumes.

Nick blew out a long breath, pressing himself back into the too soft cushions. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Ajls.”

He slipped into the nickname he’d used so many times in the past—back when they were actually in a relationship, before he’d fucked that up in the same way he fucked everything up and had been lucky as hell that she’d ever decided to speak with him again. Now they were… something. And nothing. Sort-of friends who’d been through some shit together in a way that made them able to understand each other like no one else could. In each other’s lives in an inextricable way. Someone to reach out to when you needed another person to help you fall asleep because if you had to spend one more night on your own you were going to lose your fucking mind.

An unspoken agreement, and nothing more.

“And that’s different how?” Ajla asked. “When the fuck do you ever know what you’re doing?”

Nick shrugged. She wasn’t wrong.

“Who the fuck knows anything about anything, really?”

From behind him, someone let out a snort of laughter. “That’s exactly the sort of intellectually stimulating thinking that makes it impossible to resist your charms.”

Before Nick could turn around and extend his middle finger towards the voice, the sofa dipped, and Gael thumped down into the open seat beside Nick.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Nick asked, feigning ignorance, although he knew his friends had long ago figured out what he was about.

Gael wasn’t wrong either. Stefanos was eloquent and articulate and really fucking smart and everything he said sounded deeply profound and intellectual. Nick was… Nick.

“You and your lovey, lovey heart eyes, that’s what.”

This was Elina, who Nick had known wouldn’t be far behind Gael. She, too dropped down to sit on the sofa, somehow managing even in her short, tight-fitting dress to maneuver herself onto the arm, her bare feet—shoes having been abandoned in front of the sofa where they both sat—resting in Gael’s lap.

Once she was settled, with Gael’s arm wrapped around her waist to hold her up, she leaned towards Nick and started making exaggerated kissing noises. “You think no one knows? You’re so obvious. All you do is sit there and stare at him.”

Nick flipped her off.

“I just think he’s hot. It’s not like I’m trying to hook up with him or anything. God, can you even imagine? I feel like I’d hang out with him for ten minutes and already start to feel a piece of myself dying. Like… why is that body wasted on someone that fucking boring?”

“I don’t know,” Ajla said. “I feel like I’d have more fun hanging out with him than I am sitting here watching you stare at him and cry into your beer.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Nick said. “Except probably Sakkari. I wouldn’t fuck with that girl. She’s small, but I guarantee she could destroy me in a fight.”

“One hundred percent,” Elina said. “And then she might come back and do it again just for fun. I know I would.”

“Absolutely,” Ajla agreed. “So, you know, try not to fuck things up, because I’m pretty sure she will come after you. Although I mean… this is you I’m talking to, so…”

“Fuck all of you,” Nick said. “Why the fuck am I friends with any of you?”

“Who said we’re friends?” Gael asked. He leaned forward and grabbed for the bottle of beer he’d set down on the small table and tipped it back into his mouth.

Elina giggled at this, burying her face against the side of Gael’s head. “Babe,” she said, her voice coming out odd and muffled. “Come on. Be nice to Nick. We should feel bad for him because we’re in a happy relationship and he doesn’t even know how to get a date.”

Nick glared at both of them. “Bullshit. I could. _If_ I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

He pulled away from Ajla and shoved off the sofa into a standing position. The way he saw it, he had two options here. Do the smart thing and leave, alone or with Ajla if she was up for keeping him company for the evening. Or stick around, probably have too much to drink, and try to keep himself away from Tsitsipas. So, given those options… well, he knew what the smart one would be, anyway. Not that he was usually one to do the smart thing.

“I’m out. This party is dead anyway, so…” He spun around and gave them all a mock bow. “Ladies. Gael. It’s been real, as always.”

He held a hand out towards Ajla. “Ajls, you coming?”

She gave him an odd sort of half smile that definitely wasn’t an answer of any sort.

“Look,” he said. “I’m… okay, I’ll admit it… I’m feeling some kind of way right now and I’d really like to not be, and I think the rest of the night is going to go a lot better for me if I don’t have to spend it in a hotel room by myself, so…”

Another smile from Ajla, this one accompanied by a little laugh. “Somehow… I don’t think you’ll have to.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just… have a good night, Nick.”

Why the fuck was everybody off their fucking heads today? Was this a full moon thing? Some kind of planet retrograde something or other? Nick wasn’t exactly one for astrology or moon phases or any of that weird new age mystic bullshit, but then again, he wasn’t one for believing that magic was actually a thing and apparently he’d been wrong about that, so what the fuck did he know?

“Whatever. I’ll see you clowns later.”

Nick once again raised a middle finger to the three of them then spun back around, already sliding his phone out of his pocket so he could call for a ride back to his hotel. Not that he knew where he was or how the fuck you got to an actual road from here, but he’d figure it out. Probably.

He took approximately five steps before slamming head-first into something warm and solid. Something that smelled like summer sunshine, and oh… fuck.

Nick stood still for a minute, eyes closed. When he opened them, Stefanos was still there, standing right the fuck in front of him in that goddamn perfectly cut suit, his eyes wide and dark, a small smile on his face, his hair glowing gold in the dim light of the garden. Sakkari was nowhere in sight.

“Stef. I… what’s up? You here for more videos? Because I’m probably the last person who should be talking to anyone about love and relationships and all that bullshit, so…”

Nick tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice came out rough and low and not at all as chill as he needed it to.

“No.”

Stefanos brushed his hair back from his face and every drop of blood in Nick’s body all rushed straight to his dick.

“That is… you said that if I wanted…” Stefanos’s cheeks flushed a deep pink as he bit at his lip, flicked a quick glance behind him, then swallowed, hard, his throat working deliciously with the movement. Nick sort of hated him for it. He was close enough for Nick to reach out and touch him, and in approximately another second, Nick was about to lose every single bit of self-control he had and just grab him and shove his tongue in his mouth and damn the consequences.

Because goddamn he was fucking beautiful.

Stefanos gave a sharp nod to no one in particular, then pulled one hand out of where it had been crammed into the pocket of his ridiculously tight trousers and held it out towards Nick.

“Would you like to dance with me?”


	7. Stefanos

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/j8s2r4fpy7ff4aw/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter6_music.mp3?dl=0) [6.79 MB, 00:14:49]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/1y3j4y5eiewd4oi/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter6.mp3?dl=0) [4.00 MB, 00:14:00]

It had taken Stefanos longer than he liked to work up the courage to ask Nick to dance.

The moment Stefanos had declared his intentions to speak with Nick, his friends had essentially scattered. Sascha and Marcelo’s absence hadn’t surprised him much, especially after the way their conversation had ended. Marcelo had offered to take all the camera equipment in, since they were heading inside anyway. Sascha had protested this at first—making no small show of wanting to see who it was that Stefanos would be going to speak with—but Marcelo had whispered something in his ear that had him flushing bright pink, snatching Stefanos’s equipment out of his hands, and yelling, “We’re going inside now, good luck Stef, I’ll see you tomorrow,” before the two both ran down the path towards the house as quickly as they could while still being wrapped around one another.

This left Stefanos and Maria standing together at the edge of the garden. He’d looked down at her, about to ask her to come along with him, but she’d squeezed his hand, and given him a soft smile saying, “I think from here on out you’re going to have to manage on your own,” and then disappeared off into the garden somewhere.

All of which meant that Stefanos found himself companionless and without the comfort of his camera to hide behind.

Then he’d actually started walking and saw Nick still curled on the sofa with Ajla, both of them laughing with Gael and Elina. Maria had insisted that there was nothing going on between Nick and Ajla, but their physical closeness, Ajla’s head leaning against Nick’s shoulder and Nick’s hand resting casually on Ajla’s thigh, had given him pause.

What if Maria was wrong and Stefanos overstepped and offended Ajla or Nick? What if Nick actually did find him boring? What if he had no interest in engaging in intimate activities with him? Not that dancing was necessarily an intimate activity, but… he’d learned that inviting someone to join them for a dance tended to give the illusion that one had romantic intentions.

So, he’d wandered the gardens, dropping down onto a bench, closing his eyes, and trying to clear his mind. He’d failed, his thoughts instead whirling and spinning, Sascha’s words of advice echoing throughout.

‘ _If you see someone and you like them, you just have to go for it, because you never know what might happen._ ’

The words were logical. The only way for Stefanos to know for sure if he did, in fact, have feelings of a romantic persuasion for Nick was to spend more time with him and catalogue his reactions. The only way for him to know if Nick reciprocated his feelings was to invite Nick to spend time with him and observe Nick’s response.

‘ _You have to decide if it’s worth the risk._ ’

And that, Stefanos thought, was the issue holding him back.

What if Nick didn’t reciprocate his feelings? What if Nick didn’t want to see him at all? What if he spoke with Nick and once again found himself humiliated and hurting afterward?

Another glance at Nick had Stefanos’s stomach flipping and his heart pounding and his skin burning and his whole body buzzing and tingling, admiration turned to attraction that had now become something very real.

‘ _It felt like everything all at once. Like my whole body was about to shut down, but also everything was turned up to eleven…_ ’

He had a very big decision to make.

It shouldn’t be difficult. Nick had told Stefanos that if he decided he wanted to ‘properly enjoy himself’ he should let Nick know, which, as Maria had informed him, indicated that Nick was at least open to considering the idea.

All he had to do now was walk up, smile, and ask Nick if he wanted to dance. In his mind, it looked like something out of one of the fairy stories they were all apparently living in, at least for the time—Stefanos reaching a hand out towards Nick with a sweeping bow and saying something clever and witty and brilliant like, “Nick, would you do me the honour of this dance.”

Another deep breath, then another, then another, and Stefanos shoved himself off the bench and stalked towards the pavilion and Nick.

* * *

Stefanos’s long strides covered the ground quickly, although he once again had to force himself to slow down and maintain what looked like a leisurely pace. He probably already looked desperate, practically running towards Nick to ask him for a dance before he lost his nerve. He didn’t think it would help his cause if he arrived winded and panting from the sprint across the gardens. That, most likely, would be one of those things Nick categorised as ‘weird.’

When he was still a few steps away, he heard Nick’s voice, faint, but clear enough that Stefanos could pick out his words.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Ajla shook her head, an odd look on her face as she seemed to catch Stefanos’s eye. “Nothing. Just… have a good night, Nick.”

Nick didn’t move for a few minutes, standing still with his back to Stefanos.

He was leaving, from the sounds of things. Stefanos should probably let him go. Although it would mean continued obliviousness as to whether or not Nick might reciprocate his feelings, he presumed there would be ample opportunities to investigate them further at a later time. They were, after all, both on the ATP circuit. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that they would find themselves in a similar setting to this in the not so distant future.

It would also give him time and space to re-evaluate his own feelings and what they implied. He was, he would admit, acting rather hastily. Perhaps, as his parents would no doubt tell him, he should spend an adequate amount of time engaged in actively deliberating the wisdom of further pursuing this course of action.

Then again, as he’d learned through observing Dominic and Diego, and as Sascha had reinforced a few minutes ago, one couldn’t spend so much time in deliberation that the opportunity to act had already passed.

He also knew that if he didn’t speak to Nick this evening, odds were good that he never would, and he wasn’t certain, but he believed that he would regret that course of action. Or, inaction, as it were.

“Whatever. I’m leaving. I’ll see you clowns later.” Nick turned abruptly around, staring down at the phone clutched in his hand, the screen casting his face in an odd pattern of light and shadow. Before Stefanos could step aside or move out of his way, Nick had closed the gap between them and their bodies were slamming together, hard, and Stefanos’s head was spinning and his heart was pounding, and the breath had been knocked from his lungs despite the minimal force of the impact.

Nick, at least, seemed equally as stunned, although Stefanos reasoned that this was because he hadn’t seen the collision coming. Even so, he sucked in a sharp breath and Stefanos felt all the parts of Nick’s body that were pressed up against his own—which included the entirety of his chest and torso, along with his arm and one of his legs—go tense. Nick let out a soft groaning noise, his eyes slamming shut.

Stefanos jumped backward, breaking the contact between their bodies and opening up a respectable distance between them. He resisted every urge his brain was giving him to turn around and run away as quickly as he could. He wasn’t entirely certain that his legs would have responded even if he’d tried. They felt somehow heavy and weak at the same time, holding him fast but threatening to give out beneath him and send him tumbling to the ground.

Nick shifted slightly then opened his eyes, staring directly at Stefanos, iris nearly indistinguishable from pupil in the dim light of the garden, even as they sparkled with gold from the light of the lanterns. The expression Stefanos saw behind them somehow made his knees weaker and his heart beat even harder.

“Stef. I… what’s up?” Nick’s voice sounded lower and rougher than Stefanos remembered. Most likely an artifact of his fatigue after what had certainly been an eventful few days. No doubt he, much like the rest of them, was reaching the point of exhaustion and just wanted to crash into sleep.

“You here for more videos?” Nick asked, and Stefanos felt his muscles clench tight, his body on edge and ready to run. He shouldn’t have listened to Sascha. He shouldn’t have done this.

“Because I’m probably the last person who should be talking to anyone about love and relationships and all that bullshit, so…”

_‘I’m sure you are far more of an expert on the subject than I am_ ,’ Stefanos thought. Inside, his heart was pounding so hard that he feared it might actually explode from his chest, despite the scientific impossibility of that scenario.

His hands instinctively grabbed for his camera, but it wasn’t there.

Because he’d put it away. Because Nick had called him boring and his hobbies weird and he had been right. Because Stefanos wanted to actually experience his life.

“No.” The word came out as slightly more than a whisper, and Stefanos gave a small cough to clear away the boulder that had risen in his throat.

It remained firmly in place.

He brushed his hair back from his face, letting the tug and pull of his fingers ground him, bring him back to himself.

‘ _If you get tired of your videos or whatever other weird as fuck hobbies you have and decide to actually have a good time at some point in your life, make sure you let me know.’_

“That is… you said that if I wanted…” Stefanos said. He felt the hot flush rise in his cheeks for yet another time that evening. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, focusing his mind on the spot of pain.

Nick was here, right in front of him, close enough for Stefanos to touch once again.

‘ _I need to know him_.’ Sascha’s voice, immediately echoed by Nick’s.

‘ _Do you ever just… have fun?_ ’

He wished Maria was beside him, knowing what he needed, squeezing his hand and whispering to him in Greek, giving him the right words to say.

He wished Sascha was there, with his overly loud laugh and his inevitable teasing and his carefree attitude about life. Probably, he’d be giving them both the wind-up they deserved, standing in the background, clapping and cheering and yelling ‘Oh my God, Stef, just kiss him already,’ or something else as embarrassingly forward.

He wished for Marcelo, with his soft, kind words of encouragement and the look of love in his eyes as he stared over at Sascha, reminding Stefanos that there was more beauty in this world than he’d ever experience if he didn’t take a step forward now.

‘Seek discomfort.’ A motto that Stefanos had come to live his life by. And what was he doing about it now? Nothing. Running away before the discomfort could sweep in and overwhelm. Before he took an action he could never return from and had to face the possibility that the consequences would be less than positive.

He swallowed, hard, then gave himself a sharp nod of encouragement, slipped his right hand out of his trouser pocket, and held it out towards Nick.

“Would you like to dance with me?”


	8. Nick

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/jhtxjr937vnr5hi/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter7_music.mp3?dl=0) [8.81 MB, 00:19:14]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/fk2qxle5f8w7o6u/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter7.mp3?dl=0) [6.23 MB, 00:18:31]

‘ _I don’t really enjoy dancing, so…_ ’

Nick could hear Stefanos’s words from a few minutes ago in his mind, but now here he was, hand outstretched to Nick, giving him not his big, stupid smile but something a bit more forced and strained, the pink in his cheeks visible even in the dim light. Nick should absolutely say no thanks and walk away and continue figuring out how the fuck he was getting home because that was definitely the smart thing to do.

Then again, Nick didn’t remember the last time in his life he’d done the smart thing.

“Yeah, alright.”

Stefanos’s eyes went wide then, as if he were surprised that Nick had actually agreed. And Nick supposed he didn’t blame him, because, hell, Nick was surprised that Nick had actually agreed.

Not that he was against dancing or anything—this was a party after all. Everyone was dancing. It meant nothing. Except that he could see how keyed up and on edge Stefanos was, his hand trembling as he held it out towards Nick.

“Hey.” Nick tried to keep his voice low and calm; to sound reassuring or something. “You good?”

“I…” Stefanos swallowed again, hard, and then reached up and ran a hand through his hair once more, the motion of it so slow and seductive and absolutely fucking hot that Nick had to force himself not to surge forward and kiss him right then and there.

He involuntarily let out a choked sort of groaning noise, and Stefanos tipped his head to the side, staring at Nick through narrowed eyes.

“From the sounds of things, I should be asking you the same question.”

“What?” Nick asked. “Oh. Yeah. No… I’m good. You decided to take my advice and ditch the camera and have fun, I see.”

Another small smile from Stefanos. “Yes. I… the light was too low for me to capture adequate images anyway. So… since you told me that I should inform you if I was ready to stop making videos and properly enjoy the festivities… here I am.”

“Here you are indeed.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time, Stefanos shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stared down at the ground, Nick desperately trying to come up with anything at all to say that might ease the tension between them; to calm Stefanos down. Hell, to calm himself down, his heart racing at about a hundred beats a minute, his brain swimming and everything in him urging him to say, “fuck it” and either walk away or grab Stefanos and drag him into the nearest dark corner of the garden to fuck.

And… yeah, both of those options were absolutely fucking terrible.

“Can I… get you a drink or something?” he asked, figuring that was safe enough. They could step back, take a breather, drink, talk, and ease into things a bit before diving right into close contact touching and Nick finally getting an answer to a whole bunch of questions he didn’t even know he had about how that body felt when it was in motion.

Stefanos, however, clearly felt differently.

He jolted upright, mouth dropping open and dark almond-shaped eyes going wide as he shifted backward.

“I… do not… That is…”

“It’s cool. I’ll get it. The bartender’s probably wondering where I went anyway. What are you having?”

Again, Stefanos stared at him with wide eyes. He shook his head, strands of his hair shifting with the movement, sending that goddamn fucking amazing smell cascading around them once more. Nick had to stifle another groan.

“No,” Stefanos said, jaw set, his hands now clenched into tight fists at his side. “Thank you, but… I… do not drink alcohol. So…”

“What, like… never?”

Nick blurted the words out before his brain could catch up and tell him to shut his goddamn mouth. He instantly regretted them, especially when he saw the way Stefanos shifted backward, curling in on himself slightly as he dropped his gaze to the ground. He looked as if he were ready to spin around and bolt away, and, honestly, Nick wouldn’t blame him.

“Fuck,” Nick said, elongating the word on a drag of breath. “I’m such a fucking twat tonight. Sorry. I didn’t… it’s fine.”

“No,” Stefanos said, his voice so soft and small that Nick could barely hear him over the blast of trap music from the speakers. “I… It’s… weird. I know.”

He tipped his head to the side and shrugged. “I have not ruled out the possibility of trying it at some point in my life, but until now I have refrained because I hypothesize that I will not find it overly enjoyable. Then again, others seem to derive pleasure from consuming alcoholic drinks, so… perhaps I am wrong.”

And… god, that actually made _sense_. Especially given everything he knew about Stefanos. Hell, as far as Nick could tell, Stefanos didn’t need any help smiling and laughing his way through life—finding joy and appreciation in the little things, never afraid to put himself out there even without a shot or three or four of liquid courage. Just one more item for the list of ways that he and Stefanos were polar opposites and spending any time with Nick was going to be hugely detrimental to his health, his life, and his career.

“Nah. You’re not wrong. Most of us are just convinced that we need it in order to have a good time. You seem to be doing alright without it. So… no drinks then. It’s fine. I should quit drinking anyway. Better off your way… that shit will fuck up your life.”

“Perhaps.”

Silence dragged between them, both of them standing still and staring down at the ground between their feet; Nick fighting the urge to fill it up with whatever verbal nonsense flew out of his mouth this time just to break apart the discomfort.

“Nick, for fuck’s sake stop standing there like a drongo and have a go already.”

Ajla’s voice, yelling out from where she still sat curled up on the sofa a few metres away, Gael and Elina beside her, all of them staring intently over at Nick and Stefanos.

Beside him, Stefanos made a noise that was sort of half gasp and half squeak and sounded like he might possibly be choking to death. When Nick turned to look at him again, his face was oddly pale, his eyes wide as he curled into himself even farther, looking impossibly small despite his height and build.

Nick grabbed his hand, the palm sticky with sweat and burning hot against his own. And then, just like that, they were walking hand-in-hand into the crowd of people in front of the DJ booth. Behind him, his friends let out a chorus of whistles and catcalls, and Nick felt Stefanos’s body tense even further.

“Hey,” Nick said, leaning in closer, that fucking amazing smell once again making all his blood rush to his dick. He bit down on his lip and told himself to ignore it and actually think with his fucking brain for once in his goddamn life. “Ignore them.”

He turned his head to shout over his shoulder towards his friends, holding out the hand that wasn’t wrapped in Stefanos’s, middle finger extended. “They’re a bunch of fucking wankers who have nothing better to do than fuck around in everyone else’s life,” he yelled, making sure his voice was loud enough that they could hear him despite the distance and the noise of the party.

They stood still, Stefanos staring at him, his expression unreadable, although his grip on Nick’s hand tightened even further. They weren’t dancing, despite being in the midst of the dance floor, crowds around them all shifting and moving to the beat. Neither of them said anything for what felt like a half a fucking year.

Nick wasn’t at all certain that if he opened his mouth he wouldn’t just end up saying, “So, you want to fuck?” which he was almost completely sure was the absolute wrong thing to say right now both because Tsitsipas looked absolutely terrified at the prospect of just dancing with him so the implication that Nick wanted more would probably make him pass out or something and because fucking Stefanos Tsitsipas would be the stupidest thing he’d ever done in a life full up with stupid things. Still, his skin itched with the silence between them, and he had to say something because what were they supposed to do, just stand here all night under the crushing weight of an absurd level of sexual tension?

“So… I don’t know if you know, but I have a Greek passport.”

And, that was… not at all what Nick had intended to say, but he figured it was probably better that a complete _non sequitur_ came out of his mouth than ‘ _New plan, let’s just fuck and see where this ends up_.’

Stefanos didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes and tipped his head to the side a bit, probably trying to see if a new angle on things would help him see Nick’s point. Not that he had one, really.

“My dad is Greek,” Nick continued, running his mouth, as usual, for lack of anything else to do. “I don’t know if you knew that or whatever, but… yeah. I mean… Kyrgios, right? You’re a smart dude, so you probably figured that out. Anyway… I just thought… I mean, if you need someone to round out that team for the ATP Cup or whatever. Just… letting you know I’m available. Technically.”

“Okay.” Stefanos’s confused squint had only deepened, despite Nick’s admittedly terrible attempts at explaining himself.

And… this was not exactly going as planned. Not that Nick had a plan beyond ‘get Stefanos to chill out and stop looing like he’s about to either pass out or run the fuck away.’ Still, confuse the fuck out of him clearly wasn’t the best strategy.

“I just…” Nick said, then let out a huff of a laugh. “I don’t know. Just… trying to lighten the mood. You have to relax if we’re gonna be out here dancing and shit. It’s sort of a chill kinda thing. I don’t know if you know.”

“I… yes,” Stefanos said, his body giving a jolt as though Nick’s voice had startled him.

And then just like that, Stefanos ran his hand through his hair again, showering Nick with that amazing scent, and started dancing.

He looked, Nick noted, absolutely fucking ridiculous—all long limbs and stilted awkward movements—and Nick almost laughed at him but, thankfully, checked himself, knowing that with as skittish as Stefanos had been just walking over here, the last thing he probably needed was Nick laughing at him.

Then again… maybe that was exactly what he needed.

Because seriously, what was he doing? Because he should stay away from Stefanos. Because Stefanos was too good for him by far and what he definitely didn’t need was Nick fucking up his life.

And then he tipped his head back, a wide, blissful smile on his face as he rolled his hips and writhed his body into positions Nick definitely didn’t need to think about him being in and fuck best intentions and keeping his distance and everything he’d been screaming at himself all night that he should or shouldn’t do. Because god damn Stefanos was beautiful and all Nick wanted to do at that moment was feel that fucking gorgeous body against his own.

He somehow managed to stop himself from just saying “fuck it” and sliding in closer and letting whatever the fuck happened, happen, because no matter what, he needed to get one thing clear.

“Where’s Sakkari anyway?”

Stefanos didn’t answer right away, instead staring at him for what felt like years, his dark eyes wide and searching.

“I… do not know,” he said at last. “I am also not entirely sure how that is relevant to this current situation?”

“Because I don’t need her fucking pissed at me, that’s why.”

“I don’t see why she would be,” Stefanos said. “Are you planning on doing something that would anger her?”

Was he... what? Oh, Jesus. How the fuck was he supposed to answer that question?

‘ _No, probably not. Just, you know, the usual… we dance, we fuck, maybe we talk or maybe we don’t, we fuck again. She won’t have a problem with that, right?_ ’

He cleared his throat and turned his head to look out into the garden, because there was no way he could answer that with a straight face if he was looking at any part of Stefanos right now.

“I… don’t know. I mean… you know how it is. I just… I don’t want anything to be weird later. Her coming at me like why the fuck are you dancing with my man or some shit. I thought it was better to check?”

“Her… man?”

Nick dragged his gaze back towards Stefanos to find his eyes still fixed on him.

Abruptly, just as Nick was about to… what? Explain what the fuck that meant? Stefanos straightened up, flashing him another glimpse of that fucking perfect grin. “I see. Nick, are you under the impression that Maria and I are in a romantic relationship?”

“Am I…” Nick started, his brain taking awhile to parse Stefanos’s odd phrasing. “What? No? I mean… Yes? I mean… are you two like… together or… whatever?”

“No?” Stefanos said, although there was a bit too much of a questioning tone in his voice for Nick’s comfort.

Nick held up both hands, palms towards Stefanos, and took a few steps back, putting a safer distance between them until he could clarify a few things. Because, okay, Nick totally understood not actually knowing the answer to that question. Hell, he’d hedged his answer more than a few times when asked about his status with Ajla over the past couple years, but he wasn’t about to let himself get sucked into anything until he made sure he absolutely wasn’t crossing any boundaries that didn’t need to be crossed.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t… like… I don’t care. Or, well, not that I don’t care, but just like… as long as you two aren’t exclusive or whatever and she’s not going to try to hand me my fucking balls on a plate because she sees you out here dancing with me or some shit.”

Stefanos laughed then, more of an amused giggle than a full-throated, deep laugh, but it sent a whole lot of something shooting down Nick’s entire body, and damn, he really, really hoped the answer to his question was “yes” because that was probably the only thing that was going to get him out of this fucking situation that one hundred percent should not be happening because Nick should have been smart and told Stefanos to fuck off when he had the chance.

“Maria and I are good friends,” Stefanos said. “She is like another sister to me in many ways. So, even though many people seem to think that we have a relationship that is founded in romantic attraction, I can assure you that we do not.”

Stefanos flashed him that dazzling grin again, and Nick actually had to stifle another groan as he felt a shudder run through him. “In fact, I am not engaged in any relationship of that sort at this moment.”

And… Nick honestly tried to convince himself that he was hoping this wouldn’t be the case and Stefanos would have said exactly the opposite and given him an easy out, but even he wasn’t buying his own bullshit on that one.

“So,” Stefanos said, holding his hand back out towards Nick, “shall we resume our dance?”

Nick let out a long, slow breath, willing himself to say “no” or “I actually need to leave now” or “Yeah, that’s a terrible idea please never talk to me again” or anything even remotely intelligent.

But Stefanos moved closer, their bodies almost, but not quite touching, the centimetres of space between them feeling like a third entity in the room. Nick’s entire body hummed and buzzed with the need to grab him and press him close.

“So demanding.” He’d meant his voice to come out as more sarcastic and less absolutely fucking dripping with seduction, but, well… Nick was fairly sure he’d lost any control he might have had over himself or this situation from the moment he’d bumped into Stefanos.

He slowly reached a hand towards Stefanos, watching as he tracked the movement, his mouth dropping open, as though inviting Nick to just lean in and press his own mouth against it. But he didn’t. Not yet. Because they’d been out here for, what, five minutes maybe. Not even the length of an entire fucking song. And Nick wasn’t one to drag things out, but he figured Stefanos probably wouldn’t appreciate him shoving his tongue in his mouth after five minutes of conversation.

Instead, he dropped his hand onto Stefanos’s shoulder and closed his eyes and shifted his own body in time with the music and tried to ignore the heat pooling low in his abdomen and the raw edges to all his nerves and just fucking dance.


	9. Stefanos

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/vu2hshb86x4htql/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter8_music.mp3?dl=0) [8.04MB, 00:17:05]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/bpnhkw355fqrscd/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter8.mp3?dl=0) [4.63MB, 00:16:07]

Stefanos’s body was on fire. Every square centimetre of it burned out of control, the heat all radiating out from the origin point—Nick’s hand resting on his shoulder.

‘ _Bro, you have to relax if we’re gonna be out here dancing and shit_.’

Nick had said it, in that incredibly Nick way of his, and the advice had been reasonable, but somehow Stefanos just hadn’t managed to get his brain and his body to cooperate well enough to carry out said advice.

He tried to force his muscles to unclench and his pulse to stop racing and his hands to stop sweating and his head to stop spinning. They were dancing—the music unfamiliar but the beat steady and driving and all he needed to do was sync his movements in time with the rhythmic bass pounding up into his body through his feet. Slow his breathing and find the tempo and ease his body into equilibrium.

“You enjoying yourself yet?” Nick asked, his voice rough, as he shouted to be heard over the music.

Stefanos felt a shiver run through his whole body, settling down low in his abdomen. Oh, yes. He was definitely enjoying himself. He nodded, not quite trusting himself enough to speak just yet, then forced himself to suck in a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said, raising his voice to a shout, the sensation burning against the top of his throat “Although I admit that I do not usually dance.”

Nick laughed then, a deep, full-throated thing, his head dropping forward as he pressed his free hand against Stefanos’s chest. Again, Stefanos felt his whole body tense, every single centimetre of him focused on the heat of that touch .

“No shit?” Nick said, flicking his head back up to look at Stefanos, his tongue peeking invitingly out of the corner of his wide grin. “You could have fooled me. You look like you were made for this.”

He sounded sarcastic, Stefanos thought, but then again, Nick always sounded sarcastic. It was nearly impossible to tell whether or not he was joking unless you came right out and asked him.

“Really?”

Another laugh from Nick, this one shorter and shallower, more teasing and playful. “No. Mate, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re like… a really bad dancer. Like… seriously bad.”

Stefanos froze for a moment, his body going stiff and tight. He instinctively took a step away from Nick, although Nick hadn’t told him anything he wasn’t already acutely aware of.

There were reasons Stefanos tended to avoid dancing. At least, dancing of this sort—the quick tempo and pulsing beats all requiring a liquid, fluid movement that Stefanos hadn’t mastered, at least not once he stepped off the tennis court.

For all his work on balance and movement and body control over the years, dancing made him feel a bit like a tree about to uproot itself in a storm. Or, perhaps like one of those giant inflatable balloons that the Americans liked to put up in odd places; the ones that were vaguely humanoid and jerked and swayed around with the currents of air being blown up their bottoms. Either way, on the occasions that Stefanos had let loose and joined his friends when they turned Sascha’s house into a spontaneous discotheque, he always managed to look incredibly awkward and out-of-place.

He had no idea why he’d expected this instance to be any different.

He had no idea why he’d expected Nick Kyrgios to say anything different.

Still, Nick must have seen the look of alarm on his face, because he pulled Stefanos back in, wrapping one hand around his hip and dragging him forward to press against his chest. His very hard, very solid, very warm chest.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to stop.” He spoke the words directly into Stefanos’s ear, the ghost of breath against his skin jolting him like touching a live electrical wire.

As if on cue, the beats shifted, morphing from a driving, pulsing tempo into something slower. Around them, groups of people organised themselves into pairs, some of them taking the slower song as their cue for a break, others who had been waiting on the fringes slipping in to join in the dancing. Stefanos flicked a glance up at the booth, wondering if somehow Tipsarević—DJ Tipsy as he was known for the evening—had seen him out here floundering and taken pity on his attempts at dancing, but he had his head down, focused on the collection of soundboards and computer screens that surrounded him, not paying the slightest attention to the crowd on the dance floor.

Still, Stefanos made a mental note to thank him the next time they happened to run into one another on tour. Because he still wouldn’t win any trophies for his dance skills, but at least the change in tempo gave him a chance to slow himself down and catch up to the rhythm.

Nick’s hand dropped back onto his shoulder, settling into place with such a familiarity that it seemed a shock to Stefanos that it hadn’t always been there. They were still dancing, or, at least, Nick was, his body swaying back and forth to the beat. The movement created a drag of friction between them, something delightful and thrilling and terrifyingly intimate, and Stefanos felt his body responding in ways it had definitely never responded to the touch of another person before.

He blew out a shuddering breath, one that Nick echoed with a sound Stefanos had never heard before. It was low and raspy and seemed to originate from somewhere deep within his chest, sending another shiver down Stefanos’s spine.

Stefanos didn’t think their bodies could get any closer together, but Nick proved him wrong.

The hand on his shoulder slid up to rest against the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. The sheer familiarity of the act sent a warmth flooding through Stefanos’s muscles, like the first rays of sun after the endless grey of winter.

In the back of his mind, he wondered at the intimacy of the situation. He definitely had feelings of an intense physical nature toward Nick—their mere adjacency sending Stefanos’s mind reeling and his body craving more—and he didn’t want to pull away and break the connection between them, although perhaps he should.

He had never done any of this before, not with anyone. He’d not even kissed anyone before unless you counted the chaste, closed-mouth things he’d shared with Maria throughout the years, and those were really more _Philia_ than _Eros_.

What he was feeling towards Nick had everything to do with _Eros_.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions. Lights pulsed behind his closed lids, the bulbs surrounding the dance floor shifting in colour and flashing with the beat. His body thrummed, music mixing with racing pulse mixing with the buzzing of his nerves in an odd, discordant symphony, and he once again willed himself to relax and find some sort of equilibrium.

Nick shifted backwards, untangling his hand from Stefanos’s hair and opening up some space between their bodies again, an impossible cold rushing in to fill it, despite the heat of the night.

“Hey,” he said, voice still low. “Stef… Hey, mate. Look at me. Okay? I’m sorry, I… God I’m such a fucking asshole. I didn’t… don’t stop. I think…”

A long breath, and then, “Fuck.”

Stefanos willed his eyes open then to once again find Nick staring at him, his face lighting up yellow, then blue, then red as the dance-floor lights slipped through their rhythm.

Except this time… Nick wasn’t staring at his eyes.

His gaze was lower, seemingly focused on his mouth, and Stefanos felt his stomach hollow out. Time seemed to stop, Stefanos now acutely aware of Nick’s hand still wrapped tight around his hipbone. They stood perfectly still, despite the music and the people dancing all around them. He lifted his arms, which had been dangling awkwardly at his side, and pressed his palms against Nick’s chest. The fabric of his dress shirt was smooth against his skin, and beneath it, the hard planes of his muscles.

“I think…” Nick started, his voice barely above a whisper, and Stefanos had to lean closer to hear him.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Stefanos shook his head. “No. I… would like to know. It’s better to be honest in these things, yes?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “What things?”

“Feelings,” Stefanos said. “The way you feel about someone else. You should be honest, right?”

“Probably.”

Nick lifted a hand and gently brushed the hair back from Stefanos’s face, once again leaving his fingers curled around his neck.

Stefanos’s breath caught in his chest, and he held it, his body acutely focused on the warmth of Nick’s hand and the small, pinging, tingling electric impulses surging through his body.

Seconds passed, no more than a few heartbeats, and then suddenly Stefanos was moving without thinking, lowering his head and pressing his lips against Nick’s mouth.

The kiss was light, a whisper of lips against lips, and Nick’s hands were still on him, one pressed against his hip and the other tugging at the strands of hair on the nape of his neck. Stefanos could feel the thrum of Nick’s pulse in his chest. He wasn’t sure either of them was breathing.

And then Nick’s head tilted to the side and his nose brushed against Stefanos’s and his lips parted and the hand in his hair tightened and then they were kissing. Really, truly, actually kissing, and Stefanos wished he’d taken any time to think this through or truly study the mechanics of it, because he was fairly sure he was all lips and teeth, and this probably wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all.

He leaned in, wanting to be closer, even though their bodies were already locked together so tightly that Stefanos couldn’t distinguish his own heartbeat from Nick’s. And… tongues, right, that was something people did, and he had no idea if this was right or not, but he slipped the tip of his tongue forward until he felt it brush against Nick’s, and Nick let out another one of those noises in the back of his throat, half groan and half growl.

And then suddenly their bodies ripped apart, Nick jerking his head back, and before Stefanos even knew what happened he was stumbling backwards, flailing his arms to keep from tumbling to the ground. He managed to keep his footing, just, and stared over at Nick. His heart lodged somewhere in his throat as a thousand thoughts rushed through him simultaneously. He opened his mouth, wanting to say… something, but realising he had no idea what.

Slowly, Nick’s gaze rose to meet his. Stefanos could see his chest and shoulders heaving with each gasp of breath, his whole body shuddering, his eyes wide and dark. Stefanos had the suspicion that he looked much the same.

No one spoke for what felt like decades, the gulf of space between them palpable, neither of them close enough to reach out and touch the other for the first time since Stefanos had forced himself to stride over to the pavilion.

Stefanos’s mind swam with thoughts, and he couldn’t parse any of them, the whole thing just a jumble of noise in his brain, his entire body buzzing and on edge.

It was Nick who broke the silence, his voice ragged and raw, his words hesitant.

“I… think I’d better head out. Catch a ride back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

A long pause, Stefanos trying to convince his brain and his mouth to somehow form words.

“Right.” Nick gave him a nod, then lifted one hand into the air, index finger extended upward in a half wave. “Thanks for the dance. I’ll… see you around, probably.”

And then he wove his way through the crowd of people and out of sight, leaving Stefanos standing motionless in the centre of the dance floor wondering what the hell had just happened.


	10. Nick

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/g6itn0r9tny8asa/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter9_music.mp3?dl=0) [7.45 MB, 00:15:47]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/pd03tn9p8mxkbde/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter9.mp3?dl=0) [5.18 MB, 00:15:20]

After kissing Stefanos and then running the fuck away, which was definitely not one of his proudest moments, Nick pushed through the crowd of people on the dance floor, not bothering to stop for apologies or any other acts of politeness beyond a courteous wave of his hand after a few particularly hard collisions. What was the worst that could happen? Everyone here might think he was an unreasonable asshole with no manners? Yeah, like that would be any different than your standard Sunday evening.

Technically, _Stefanos_ had initiated the kiss, but there was no way Nick hadn’t been about to do it himself in another minute. And he’d definitely kissed Stefanos back, so it wasn’t like he could claim he ‘wasn’t into him like that’ or ‘hadn’t expected it’ or any of the other tired excuses people gave in this situation. The reality was that Nick had agreed to the dance and then he’d practically set Stefanos up for that kiss and he’d kissed him back and he’d fucking enjoyed it, and then somehow, for once in his life, his brain had chosen that exact moment to actually fucking work and he’d thought ‘ _Jesus Christ, Nick, this is the exact opposite of staying away from this kid so you don’t fuck him up_ ’ and then he’d panicked and now here he was, pushing people out of the way at a party and feeling like the biggest fucking asshole in the entire goddamn universe.

He needed to get out of here. Get away from this party and these people and back to somewhere he could _think_ and his brain might actually make a rational fucking decision for once.

Head up, he looked over the crowd of people in and around the pavilion and bar area. It didn’t take him long to spot Ajla, still seated on the same sofa they’d occupied earlier. She was alone this time, Gael and Elina nowhere in sight.

Nick scanned the area on and around the sofa in the hopes that he’d catch a glimpse of his suit jacket. He didn’t see it anywhere, although he was fairly certain he’d tossed it on the sofa earlier, so it had to be there somewhere. He seriously hoped Ajla wasn’t sitting on it, but he supposed it was better that than him having to search the whole entire party until he could locate the thing. Wrinkles could be steamed out. Probably. His mum had sorted out worse when it came to his laundry.

Ignoring Ajla’s questioning look, he headed straight to her side of the sofa then bent down and put an arm on her shoulder, gently pressing her forward so he could check the cushions behind her where he’d been sitting earlier.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ajla protested, shoving at his hands and slamming herself harder into the sofa cushions.

“Trying to find my fucking jacket so I can leave.” Nick tried to keep his voice down, he honestly did, because Ajla didn’t deserve to be on the back end of his frustration with this entire evening, but the words still came out louder and harsher than he meant them to.

“And you couldn’t use your words? ‘Hey, Ajls, have you seen my jacket?’ Maybe try that instead of stalking over here and fucking shoving me out of my seat.”

He rolled his eyes at her, slipping his voice into a mocking parody of politeness as he let go of her shoulder and took a step back. “Hey. Ajls. Have you seen my jacket?”

“Fuck off.”

“Look. I don’t really have time for your bullshit, so…”

“Oh, sure, because I was really bored and hoping that any second now you’d come over and start acting like a fucking twat out of nowhere.”

“God. Can you just… not be a bitch for one night?”

“I don’t know. Can you just not be a dickhead for one night?”

And wasn’t that a question?

Nick dropped his head down and fisted his hand in his hair, pulling at the longer strands at the top. This proved to be a terrible idea, as memories of this same hand tangled up in soft, silk-smooth curls just a few minutes ago flooded back to him. Which, in turn, led to thoughts of warm skin and tight muscles and the firm press of lips on his own and that absolutely fucking absurdly amazing smell. And those thoughts were, of course, followed by the stunned, hurt look on Stefanos’s face when Nick had shoved him away. The look that echoed a very similar one Nick had received earlier that evening when he’d told Stefanos he was weird and his hobbies were boring.

“Apparently not.”

He lifted his chin and looked her straight in the eyes, poised for a fight if that’s what she wanted, ready to hear her run through the diatribe of all the ways he was the biggest asshole fuck-up on the planet. Hell, he _wanted_ her to say it. He needed to hear it. To agree with it. To sit through the recounting of all his particular evils so he could tell her “thanks, here’s one more you can add to the list.”

Instead, Ajla’s face went from anger to annoyance to confusion to… something else. Her gaze softening, her eyes full of kindness and compassion and a whole bunch of questions he didn’t want to answer any time soon.

“Nick?” Her tone was now even and gentle, like a parent trying to soothe a stroppy child. “What happened? Sit down.”

“Nothing,” Nick replied. He stepped backwards, opening up some space between them. He had no intention of sitting down. Sitting down meant staying here to talk about his problems and that was definitely not happening right now. “I just… I really need to leave. I was done with this place like two hours ago.”

Ajla raised one eyebrow at him—a look he’d gotten approximately five thousand times over the years they’d known one another.

“You didn’t seem done while you were standing there staring at Tsitsipas like he was a whole ass meal.” She frowned and leaned over slightly, peering out into the groups of people littering the garden. “Where is he anyway? I thought you’d be halfway down his pants by now.”

_I could be_ , Nick thought. _Hell, maybe I should be. Look where trying to do the right thing gets you, Kygs._

“What happened? Did he finally come to his senses and realise you’re not half as cute as you think you are?”

Nick sucked in a sharp breath. He tried to take the words for what they were, he and Ajla spending ninety percent of their time giving one another no end of shit, but they stung like salt in an open wound. He cleared his throat, hoping to disguise the breath as a cough until he could chase away the inevitable emotion and slip into his more comfortable sarcasm.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Ajla crossed her arms and glared at him like some sort of annoyed parent ready to scold her constantly disobedient child.

“What did you do?”

“Why the fuck does everyone always assume everything is my fucking fault?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

And, okay, that was fair. But it didn’t mean Nick needed to sit here and discuss his failings with her at length.

“It’s nothing, Ajls. We danced, we hung out, we’re done.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s on you. You wanna keep me company? We can go back to mine… or yours, I don’t fucking care… and… whatever.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely invitation,” Ajla said. “Does it usually work for you? ‘Let’s go wherever and do whatever?’ Who could resist?”

“You coming with or not?”

“No. I’m in the middle of something.”

Nick looked at where she sat alone on the sofa, no one else in sight, not even a sign that she’d been thinking about doing anything other than sitting there by herself.

“Are you?”

“Yes. I am. I know this will shock you, but I don’t spend my nights waiting to see if you’ll call me because you need something to do.”

“I never said you were, but like…” he gestured to the empty space beside her. “There is literally no one else here.”

“Um, because they went to get drinks,” Ajla said, her tone dripping with derision. “So… go if you’re going. I’ll see you sometime, I’m sure.”

“Whatever. I need to find my jacket.”

He turned to leave, trying to remember where he was when he’d set his jacket down. Ordinarily he wouldn’t care, but this was a new suit that he actually liked, and he wasn’t quite ready to part ways with it just yet. He’d do one cursory lap around the party and then write it off as lost for now and hope Sascha ended up with it and he could get it back later. He hadn’t exactly solved his “not going home alone to roll around in his own bullshit” problems, but clearly talking about them with Ajla wasn’t going any better, so unless he chose option three “get as drunk as possible and hope you forget about it” he was out of ideas. And probably, this wasn’t the best place for option three. Shit like that practically guaranteed he’d do something stupid like go looking for Stefanos so he could fuck things up even more.

He’d taken approximately five steps before he almost collided with Maria Sakkari.

Thankfully, they both managed to sidestep one another at the last second, Maria somehow doing it without spilling either of the drinks she held in her hands. Nick would have been impressed if he hadn’t been so busy thinking ‘ _oh, fuck, this is the second to last person I wanted to run into right now_.’ It had been long enough since he’d left Stefanos standing in the middle of the dance floor that there was almost no way Maria didn’t know about it by now.

“Sorry,” she called out, then looked up at him, her usual cheerful smile falling away from her face. Her voice, when she spoke, was less angry than he’d expected and more questioning. “Oh. Nick? Is Stefanos with you?”

“Um…” Nick said, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say? On the one hand, it seemed like Maria somehow didn’t know what had gone down between him and Stefanos, and Nick certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell her. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to sit down with her and make polite conversation and act like everything was perfectly fine.

His best play was to continue with his plan to get the fuck out of that party as quickly as possible.

“No,” he told her. “I’m… actually on my way back to my hotel as soon as I can find a ride, so…”

“You’re leaving? Where is Stefanos?”

“I don’t know,” he said, somehow managing to sound nonchalant about it.

He didn’t add, ‘ _and I don’t care_ ,’ mostly because it wasn’t true and because he had a feeling she’d see right through his bullshit the second it left his mouth. He definitely didn’t want to be on this girl’s bad side, and he had no doubt whatsoever that fucking with Stefanos was the quickest way to get there.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Maria asked, “I thought you two were together.”

“We were. You know how it is. We danced for a bit, we stopped, he went somewhere, I went somewhere else. So… I don’t know where he is.”

It wasn’t technically a lie, but he had no doubt that Maria wouldn’t let him off that easily.

She didn’t.

Slowly, her eyes narrowed at him. “What did you do?”

“Why the fuck does everyone always assume I did something?” Nick asked again. This time, however, he found the annoyance dropping out of his voice at the look of anger that had now taken over Maria’s face.

On his other side, Ajla had also resumed her accusing glare. And wasn’t this fucking great. Two women who could definitely take him down in a fight both staring at him like all they needed was one fucking reason to do so—a perfect ending to a shitshow of a night.

He blew out a long sigh and dropped down to the sofa. “I don’t… look, okay. First, can everyone sit down and put down anything that can be used as a weapon? Because I really don’t need to end today in a fucking hospital getting stitches after one of you slams that glassware over my head.”

“Oh, it’s _that_ bad,” Ajla said. She looked up at Maria. “Yeah I wouldn’t sit down just yet if I were you. But give me that drink. I got your back, girl.”

“Jesus Christ, Ajla,” Nick said.

And when the fuck had she become mates with Maria Sakkari anyway? Nick was pretty damn sure that the two had barely had a conversation before and now all of a sudden Sakkari was getting them both drinks and Ajla had her back. What kind of weird ass alternate universe had Nick fallen into this week anyway?

Ajla’s glare stayed focused on him, even as she reached up to take one of the drink glasses from Maria. “Nick. Seriously. What happened? Start from the beginning.”

Nick stared down at the ground, noting that both of them had opted for shoes with pretty sizeable heels. His own dress shoes weren’t exactly made for sprinting, but he was still confident that if he took off right now, he’d have at least a half a minute’s head start before they had time to kick out of their shoes and come after him.

He’d have to deal with twice the fallout later, of course, but at least it probably wouldn’t come from both of them at once. And maybe with a little time and perspective they’d all calm down about this and come to realise that even though, on the surface, it was definitely a dick move, he’d done the right thing for everyone in the long run.

Then he looked up to find both women still glaring at him and decided he might as well fucking man up and take the opportunity to actually attempt to explain what he’d been thinking before these two got Stefanos’s side of things and declared him public enemy number one.

“Alright,” Nick said. “But seriously, sit down. And nobody throw any drinks at me until I’ve had a chance to explain myself.”


	11. Stefanos

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/2q0aeowft37x2s1/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter10_music.mp3?dl=0) [9.79 MB, 00:20:55]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/bn8cr9u6t3qfx47/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter10.mp3?dl=0) [5.72 MB, 00:19:59]

The interior of Sascha’s house was dark and quiet, especially in comparison to the party that was still raging outside.

Stefanos was done with parties. Potentially for the rest of his life. He was aware that this proclamation was rather overdramatic considering he was only twenty years old and life on the ATP tour all but guaranteed he’d be expected to attend a party at least monthly, if not every week.

Regardless, he was done with this particular party.

He’d stood on the dance floor for what had felt like ages, staring at the spot where Nick had disappeared and trying to get a handle on what had just happened. Around him, groups of people gathered together to laugh and dance and sing. Couples held one another close and moved their bodies in unison. Stefanos had no idea, even upon observing them all for several minutes, where exactly it was that he’d erred in his attempts to create something similar with Nick.

Although Stefanos had no experience with any of this, he’d seen the way Marcelo looked at Sascha sometimes, just before he pulled him in for a kiss, and the look on Nick’s face had been almost an exact mirror. Then Stefanos’s body had moved on instinct, and Nick had kissed him back, and he’d thought, for a brief moment, that perhaps he’d gotten it all right

Only to learn that, somehow, he’d gotten it all very, very wrong.

So, he’d headed inside, seeking refuge in the only thing in his life besides tennis that had ever made any sense to him, his art.

The tape room was as far away from the back door as one could get while still remaining on the ground floor of the house. This was one of the reasons Stefanos had made it his sanctuary, of sorts. None of his housemates ever ventured over there, much preferring to lounge around on the sofas dotting the two much larger common rooms or keeping to themselves in their chosen bedrooms. In the tape room, Stefanos could leave experiments to rest and know they’d be undisturbed for days, and he liked to tuck himself away in there whenever he needed a little quiet space to read, study, research, or work on his videos.

The door was closed when he reached it. This wasn’t abnormal; Stefanos himself usually kept it shut up tight even after he’d vacated the room. He shuffled around his camera bag, tripod, and microphone—all retrieved from where Marcelo and Sascha had set them just inside the back door—until he freed a hand, then turned the knob, fumbled his way inside, and flicked on the light.

“Hmm?” said a sleepy sounding voice.

Stefanos gave a small shout and nearly dropped all his equipment as his whole body jolted at the noise, and he instinctively backed through the door and back into the corridor.

“Oh. Stefanos. It’s you.”

He knew that voice, even though he could barely hear it over the sound of his blood racing through his body.

“Del Po?”

“ _Si_ , _si_.” Del Po rolled off the cream-coloured sofa at the far end of the small room and climbed to his feet. “Sorry. I did not mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Stefanos said. “I would say… startled, perhaps. I wasn’t aware that anyone was occupying this room. My apologies for making such an assumption, as well as the unnecessary interruption.”

Hand on the door, he started easing it shut, ready to retreat to his bedroom, then stopped short and stuck his head back into the room.

“Sorry again, but,” he shifted his camera bag around once more, the strap now digging into his shoulder through his suit jacket, then gestured towards the small table beside the sofa. “Would you mind handing me my laptop?”

Del Po turned his head to look between Stefanos and where he was pointing but didn’t move to retrieve the laptop. “You can come in, Stefanos. I don’t mind. I was just taking a short rest. It has been a long and very tiring day. I needed a few moments of quiet.”

“I won’t keep you, then. I really can go somewhere else.”

“I don’t mind if you are here as long as you don’t mind if I stay as well.”

“I… do not. In truth, I would be pleased with some company. I agree, this evening has been quite emotionally exhausting. Although for me it is the sort that is improved by _not_ having too much silence in which to reflect.”

He collected his computer from Del Po and rested it on his lap, the metal cool through the thin fabric of his dress trousers. He rummaged through his bag until he’d retrieved both camera and USB connector cable, then untangled the cord and used it to connect the camera to the laptop before opening the program he used for his file transfer.

“What are you doing?” Del Po asked.

“I thought I would transfer and sort the wedding photos in order to provide them to Dominic and Diego as soon as possible.”

“Ooh,” Del Po let out a little squeal, his eyes lighting up as he pressed his palms together and leaned towards Stefanos. “Can I see?” He looked up towards the ceiling then, his voice drifting off into a dreamlike quality. “Didn’t the princes both look so lovely? I am sure you captured the moment beautifully.”

“Thank you,” Stefanos replied, although as enamoured with the royals as Del Po was, Stefanos wasn’t entirely certain that he would be the most impartial judge of the quality of his work.

He turned everything on and began the process of transferring things from camera to computer. He would go through them all, sort out those that were fine as they were, those that could benefit from some touch-ups or edits, and those that were probably not good enough to keep. This was exactly what he needed, a task to keep his mind occupied so it didn’t revert to the endless loop of analysing everything he’d said and done in the hopes of coming to some conclusion about where he’d erred in his previous interactions with Nick.

Transfer done, Stefanos twisted around to give Del Po a better view of the screen and clicked on the first image. It began with a video of Sascha’s garden being transformed—lights being strung, tables and chairs being moved in and draped with garlands of flowers, and the gazebo being assembled. He’d speed it up into a time-lapse, so Dominic and Diego could enjoy a short behind-the-scenes look at how all their friends had pitched in and gotten things ready for their special day.

Following this were photos of the ceremony itself—Diego and Dominic standing hand in hand in front of the makeshift altar, dressed in matching suits for the occasion. Beside him, Del Po was squirming in his seat, letting out a series of soft cooing noises as Stefanos clicked through the images.

“They’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice octaves higher than normal. “Everything is so beautiful. Look at how truly happy both princes are.” He let out a wistful sigh. “I think I am in love with their love.”

Stefanos clicked through some more photos, stopping only when Del Po grabbed his forearm and squeezed it, hard. He’d landed on the first in a series of images depicting Diego and Dominic exchanging rings, this one featuring a smiling Dominic sliding a delicate gold ring onto Diego’s finger, Diego looking up at him in adoration.

“You must make me a copy of these!” Del Po exclaimed. “I have to pass them on to the editor at the Royal of the Month Photo club!”

“I think we should make sure it’s okay with Diego and Dominic first,” Stefanos said, unable to keep from smiling at Del Po’s enthusiasm. “But then…yes. I will.”

Del Po let out another squeal and motioned for Stefanos to continue on with the photos.

The rest were more of the same, the ceremony, the garden, everyone standing around in their formal attire looking handsome and happy. Eventually, he reached the photos and videos of Dominic and Diego driving off into the sunset on the golf cart that Stefanos had helped Sascha and Marcelo decorate earlier that day, pausing long enough to let the video play so Del Po could resume his squeals of delight once again—this time actually waving at the screen, despite the fact that Dominic and Diego couldn’t possibly see him.

And then, they came to the party.

Or, more correctly, they came to the first of an exceedingly large number of photos that Stefanos had taken of Nick throughout the evening.

In these, Nick was standing with Sascha, the two of them laughing at something. He’d already undone the top buttons of his shirt collar, despite the actual wedding ceremony only ending a few minutes before, but he hadn’t yet gotten to removing the coat or untucking his shirttails. Stefanos wasn’t used to seeing Nick dressed in anything other than his standard hoodie and athletic shorts. He cut a striking figure, suit perfectly tailored, accentuating the planes of his body. The suit itself was remarkable—the afternoon sun sparking off the subtle shimmer woven into the deep blue fabric, which stood in perfect complement to the orange dress shirt.

He’d looked stunning, and Stefanos hadn’t been able to look away.

Apparently, he still wasn’t able to look away, because it wasn’t until Del Po nudged him in the side that he realised he’d been sitting there staring at the first photograph, studying it, his mind entirely caught up in the beauty of Nick Kyrgios.

He shook his head to clear it and shifted his seat on the sofa. “Sorry. I got… nevermind. Let’s go on, shall we?”

Going on, however, only led to more photos of Nick, all taken with slight adjustments to the angle or small tweaks of the camera settings. In each of the photos, Nick was smiling, head slightly tipped down or turned to the side in a full-out grin at whatever Sascha had just said, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

Stefanos moved through the photos quickly, eager to get past them so he didn’t have to focus on how handsome Nick was and how smooth his skin had been and the way his lips felt against his own. The photos, thankfully, soon moved on to a few interspersed shots of the rest of the crowd—a group shot of those of his roommates who had stuck around for the party, pictures of people clustered together around high tables all sharing food and drinks together, along with videos of Sascha, Mischa, and a sobbing Del Po all toasting the princes’ honour.

When these transitioned into another sequence of photos of Nick—now without his jacket and leaning against a table near the bar—Stefanos swore he could feel his heart being squeezed in a vice grip.

A wedding filled with happy couples, everyone laughing and smiling and so in love and Stefanos hiding behind his camera, because that was the only place he’d ever felt comfortable. And rightly so, he supposed, because when he’d attempted to come away and find a piece of this shared happiness for himself everything had gone wrong and he still had no idea why.

He blew out a sigh, ready to zoom past these and onto the rest of the photos, when Del Po stopped him with a hand to his forearm. This time, however, the touch was gentle; nothing like the over-excited squeezes of a few minutes ago.

“Stefanos. Is everything okay with you?”

“Yes,” Stefanos said, although that was the biggest lie he could tell at the moment.

“Okay.” Del Po didn’t sound convinced in the least. “Your photos are very lovely. These in particular are some of the most gorgeous I’ve seen. You’ve captured quite a lot of them, I notice. Do you have a particular fondness for Prince Kyrgios?”

‘ _A particular fondness_ ’ was a kind way of putting things, Stefanos thought. It was more like a weakness, an absolute desperate attachment, an intense, hopeless infatuation that would never amount to anything tangible.

“I… you could say that, yes. Although I believe that is rather an understatement of the way I feel—” he paused, cutting himself off and whipping his head around to stare at Del Po. “Did you say ‘Prince’?”

Del Po’s blue eyes sparkled as his face broke into a wide grin. “Yes. Were you not aware of his royal status? Technically his claim has been relinquished and he doesn’t speak of it often, but the topic has been featured more than once in the Royal of the Month newsletter.”

“There’s a newsletter?” Stefanos asked, and that hadn’t been his first thought, or even his second or third or fourth, but it seemed to be the only one he was able to give voice to at the moment.

“Of course. There is also a vibrant online community, but the newsletter is the most accurate source of information.”

And… that actually made sense. As much as any of this made sense, Stefanos supposed. Which was to say that it made very little sense, but considering he’d just spent the day at a somewhat spontaneous royal wedding between two people he’d known for years and had no idea were royals or had any sort of romantic attraction for one another, he supposed he should learn to stop being surprised at these sorts of things.

All of which brought him back to his first thought from a few moments ago.

“Nick is a prince?”

“Yes,” Del Po said. “His mother was a princess in her home sultanate of Pahang, which technically makes Nick a member of the Malaysian royal family.”

Stefanos narrowed his eyes and squinted at Del Po, searching his face for any signs that he might be joking; trying to pull one over on him to lighten the mood. But Del Po, Stefanos had learned, wasn’t one to joke where royalty was concerned. Which meant that either his information was incorrect, which also wasn’t likely, or Nick was the next to be revealed as professional-tennis-playing royalty.

“I… see.” Stefanos’s head was still spinning, a thousand different questions all tumbling around and fighting to spill out of him first.

He settled on, “Are there any other tennis playing royals that you haven’t told me about?”

Del Po pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. “Umm… yes. Let’s see. Well, of course there is Comtesse Mladenovic of Nord-Pas-de-Calais, who had been promised to Prince Dominic before his wedding to Prince Diego. I anticipate Prince Dominic breaking this vow will have some very interesting consequences in the relations between the countries involved. Um. Sir Milos, editor-in-chief of the Royal of the Month newsletter is himself a baronet. And, also… ah, yes, Lord Felix, Marquis of Ville-Marie. There may be others I’m not remembering right now, but those are the ones that come to mind.”

All Stefanos could do was nod at this information. “Very well. I… thank you, I suppose. At least now I will be able to address them properly. Maybe. I am not sure I know the correct forms of address, actually.”

He turned back to his computer, ready to resume his photo slide show, when Del Po stopped him once more with a hand to his forearm.

“So,” he said, voice hesitant, although Stefanos could hear the excitement wavering behind it. “Your affinity for Prince Kyrgios. Is it…?” He clapped his hands together, shifting around in his seat.

“That is to say… Is there going to be another royal wedding soon?”

This last question was asked with such a wave of hopefulness that Stefanos found himself desperately wishing he could give Del Po a better answer. Instead, he felt the vice grip tighten around his chest once again and he had to look away.

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to stay calm, trying to keep his tone level and push the words out without his voice breaking around them.

“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut and flopped back against the sofa, pressing in and trying to find some comfort in its familiar softness. “I would say there is no chance of that any time soon.”


	12. Nick

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/1p39scurmh9dzsj/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter11_music.mp3?dl=0) [8.07 MB, 00:17:09]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/uy9vc5bgm5dv5dn/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter11.mp3?dl=0) [5.47 MB, 00:16:11]

“Oh my God, Nick,” Maria said, the words coming out as a muffled wail as she buried her face in both hands. “Do you even know what you did?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied. “I do. I just fucking told you. I feel like shit about it. It was, at best, a dick move and at worst made me an absolute fucking twat. So… I don’t know what else I can say. Sorry. I fucked up. As usual.”

He’d spent the past few minutes giving the two girls the condensed version of what had happened between he and Stefanos. He’d tried to spin it as one of those ‘ends justify the means’ situations. That he’d done it because it was better than letting whatever was about to happen actually happen and explaining to Stefanos later that it could never happen again because they were _not_ going to be good together and Nick was going to fuck up his whole life. Or, worse yet, not actually having the balls to say all that when it needed to be said and then doing exactly what he said he needed to not do and dragging someone with all the potential in the world down to his deep levels of apathy and mediocrity.

And, yeah, okay. All of that was true, but he was also fairly sure that giving someone all the vibes in the world until they kissed you and then shoving them off of you and running away made you, at best, a monumental fucking dick.

So… you know, a win-win, as usual.

“In my defense, I’ve always been really up-front about the fact that I’m an asshole.”

At the eyeroll Ajla gave him, he shook his head and let out a sarcastic laugh. “No, I’m serious. Look. I can’t even begin to apologise for the way I treated him tonight, because it was unacceptable, but… Ajls, you know me. This is who I am. What I do. It’s better that we clear things up now—just so you know, Kygs is an unreasonable asshole who is going to treat you like shit and fuck up your life, just fucking stay away.”

“Yeah, I… think it’s too late for that.” Maria’s brown eyes bored holes into his, her jaw set firm. “He really likes you, Nick. I’ve never seen him like this before. About anyone.”

Nick shook out his shoulders like he could somehow shrug all this off and convince himself that Stefanos’s feelings were none of his concern.

“I guess you should talk to him or something, then. I didn’t ask him to catch feelings or some shit. So… tell him I’m flattered, but it’s not going to work. Pick literally anyone else.”

Nick tried to keep his voice down, but the words exploded out of him too loudly and with too much force. He squeezed his hands into fists, trying to direct his anger the way his mum had shown him when he was a kid. It didn’t usually work, but Maria was trying to help, and she definitely didn’t deserve to have him take his self-loathing out on her.

This time it was his turn to close his eyes and flop back into the cushions. He sat there for a few minutes, letting everything wash over him, knowing that he was finally doing the right thing and making the right fucking decision even if it wasn’t the one he wanted to make.

Stefanos was full of potential and Nick was where potential went to die, and for once in his fucking life Nick was actively trying to not be a selfish, self-serving dick.

“Why do you care so much?”

Ajla’s voice was soft and calm, but the words were pointed and direct. She already knew the answer, of course. They’d spent more than enough time together over the years for him to be able to pull any kind of bullshit and expect her not to call him out. And that’s what this was. Her calling him out on his bullshit and trying to disguise it as fucking concerned friendship or something. Her own kind of bullshit.

When he didn’t respond, she tried again, her voice closer this time, the lights that flashed behind his closed eyelids dimming as she leaned over to peer at him.

“Nick?”

This time, he obliged her, flicking his eyes open to stare right into her face, making sure he held her gaze and spoke his response like he believed it with all his heart. “I don’t.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Ajla said, spitting the words out at him on a wave of annoyance as she flopped back onto her own sofa cushion and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Whatever,” Nick responded, safely back behind his net of sarcasm once again. “I just... I didn’t need to be a dick, but I don’t need him catching feelings so I can avoid fucking him up the way I fuck everyone up.”

“See, that’s my point,” Ajla said. “Usually you don’t care who you fuck up.”

And… that hurt like a fucking open palm slap to the face. But, honestly, he more than deserved it. Especially coming from Ajla. The person whose life he’d fucked up more than anyone else’s.

“Thanks for that, Ajls. Seriously. Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate you? You’re seriously the best.”

She rolled her eyes and flicked her middle finger at him. “Rack off. You’re such a fucking dag. Did you ever think the reason you’re so messed up over this is that you actually fucking like him?”

Nick wanted to protest. To fight with her. To insist that whatever he felt for Stefanos, it didn’t go any deeper than wanting to do absolutely filthy things to his beautiful body. Maybe if he kept insisting that he didn’t give a fuck and he couldn’t control how someone else decided to feel, he’d eventually speak it into existence.

He’d be lying to himself, though. Had been all night. Because if any of that was true, then he would be able to shrug it off as ‘Kygs being Kygs’ and get on with his life. He wouldn’t be sitting here disappointed and pissed off at himself. He wouldn’t be feeling all this fucking guilt. He wouldn’t be wishing he could rewind the clock to two hours ago so he could do the right thing and tell Stefanos he was flattered, but he needed to head home. He wouldn’t be thinking about all the things he should have done and feeling like a piece of shit for all the things he did.

Ordinarily, he could turn up at a club with one girl and leave at the end of the night with her friend and not feel a fucking thing about it. The last time he’d cared this much about one of his endless string of fuck-ups had been two years ago on the night that had led to Ajla ending the single greatest relationship he’d ever had in his life.

That one had hurt. It had scraped at his insides like a knife until he felt hollow and empty. Until life had no purpose anymore and every day had been nothing more than going through the motions because people were counting on him and he had responsibilities and he honestly didn’t have anything better to do. This… wasn’t quite the same, but he was certainly shaken up by it more than usual.

He dropped his head down and fisted a hand in his hair. How had this happened? Why did he give a single fuck, let alone multiple fucks, let alone possibly all of his fucks about Stefanos Tsitsipas? He was the absolute last person Nick needed to catch feelings for. Then again, he probably shouldn’t be surprised that he’d done exactly the thing he didn’t need to do.

A deep breath, then another, then he spoke again, voice calmer now although his anger with himself and the whole fucking situation was still surging around his body at full tilt.

“Look. I’m… God. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want anything to do with him. He’s… well… okay… I’m just gonna come out and say it, he’s seriously fucking hot. And he smells freaking amazing, and I really want to know why. I mean, shit, I was about a second from asking if I could please, for the love of all that’s good in this world, fuck him until neither of us can see straight. But…”

He reached both hands up and pressed them against his face, fingers digging in at his eyes like maybe if he pushed hard enough, he’d clear the pressure that was building inside his skull. He groaned, the sound muffled beneath his palms. He didn’t move them, even as he offered up the same refrain he’d been shouting to himself all night about why this was a terrible fucking idea.

“He’s a weird dude, but… I don’t know, I like him. And I don’t want to fuck him up. I want him to stay the weird, amazing, happy, positive, fucking perfect person he is, and he’s not going to do that if he gets involved with me. I’m not cut out to be anybody’s anything. You of all people should know that, Ajls. I ruin everything. And the absolute last fucking thing I could live with is ruining his life the way I ruin everyone’s.”

“Stefanos can take care of himself.”

Maria’s words were quiet, but they carried weight, delivered with a confidence Nick hadn’t expected. Then again, as he dropped his hands and turned to catch the look of fire and determination in her eyes, he wasn’t sure why he was surprised.

“He’s smart,” she continued. “And he’s methodical. He doesn’t do anything without thinking the whole thing through. If anything, he _overthinks_ it most of the time. So… trust me when I tell you that he knows what he’s getting into, Nick. And yeah, he’s new to this. And yeah, it might not be the best decision he ever made. But he likes you. He really, really, really likes you. So…”

“You’re not seriously backing this, are you? It makes no fucking sense. He’s an honestly good dude with a great life and all the fucking potential in the world, and I’m… me. Of all the people he could get himself involved with, we all know this is probably the worst decision he could make.”

He looked over at Ajla, waiting for her to back him up on this. Hell, if anyone should advise anyone to never get involved with Nick it would be her. She was probably some kind of saint for still speaking to him after all the shit he’d put her through over the years.

“Eh,” she chimed in. “Maybe not the worst. I mean… you’re a dickhead, a monumental asshole, and a general fuck up, as we’ve established, but a person could do worse.”

“Thanks?” Nick said, turning the word into a question.

“Only the truth,” she said, tipping her head side to side and holding up her drink in salute.

“Except you know it fucking isn’t.”

Nick turned back towards Maria. “I was fucking in love with Ajla. Like… I was seriously thinking about asking her to marry me. Ajls, I don’t know if you knew that, but… I was. And I still… well… I’ll let her tell you all about how that worked out.”

“As I said, Stefanos can make his own decisions. You’re both adults, so start acting like it. He likes you, and, I don’t know… you might be… _you_ ,” Maria waved her hands up and down, gesturing over to where he sat beside her on the sofa, “but… you obviously care about his feelings and I think deep down inside you actually like him too. So… stop with this act of yours and go talk to him and fix this particular fuck up and try not to do it again.”

Nick lifted his hands to massage at his temples with his fingers. He felt wrecked. Wrung out. Like he had the hangover of a lifetime. Which was bullshit, considering he didn’t even have the hazy memories of a legendary evening to go along with it.

“And anyway,” she said. “If you do anything to mess him up, you’ll have me to answer to.”

This, Nick believed. She wasn’t small—built for tennis, lithe and athletic, and strong—but she wasn’t exactly a unit, either, her head coming up to the level of his shoulder. Still, he’d meant what he said earlier. He had no doubt in his mind that this girl wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass if he gave her even the slightest reason.

Hell, she probably should have kicked him in the junk and walked away the second he told her what he’d done.

“I agree, and well said.” Ajla reached over Nick to give Maria a fistbump, the two of them moving in way too much unison for two people who, as far as Nick was aware, hadn’t even spoken more than twenty words to one another before tonight.

She drew her arm back and turned to fix Nick with a look. “That goes double for me. If you fuck this boy up, I’m coming for you. Got it? I can make your life hell, and you fucking know it.”

He did, too. And, probably, he should have pointed out that she seemed to be way more ready to fight him about _this_ than she had when he’d actually fucked up _their_ relationship, but he figured now wasn’t exactly the time to pour salt into that particular wound.

“So… are you going to talk with him?” Ajla asked. “Because you at least owe him an explanation and an apology, if nothing else.”

Maria nodded, two sets of eyes now fixed on him. “I agree. Go talk to him. Apologise. Explain. At least give him the chance to make his own decision before you decide you know what’s best and make the choice for him.”

They were right, Nick knew. An explanation and an apology was the _least_ he owed Stefanos. He still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t the worst idea ever. He still absolutely believed that he was going to be the worst thing to happen to Stefanos’s life _and_ tennis career. And who knew. Maybe his asshole behaviour of kissing and running had been enough to put Stefanos off. Hopefully. Maria was right, Stefanos was smart. Probably, he was smart enough to realise that Nick wasn’t someone he wanted to be with. Probably, Nick _had_ been enough of a dick that evening to completely crush any feelings Stefanos might think he’d caught for Nick. But he wouldn’t know unless he actually spoke with him.

The only problem was…

“I don’t know where he is,” Nick said.

“No problem,” Maria responded. “I do.”


	13. Stefanos

Music version:   


Non-music version:   


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/apdrhxlhesnocv9/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter12_music.mp3?dl=0) [10.3 MB, 00:22:10]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/fxnzpppkebhovwa/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter12.mp3?dl=0) [5.91 MB, 00:20:40]

“Do you want to speak about it?” Del Po asked, his hand still resting gently against Stefanos’s forearm, the touch offering some measure of comfort and reassurance. “I do not know if I will be much help in these matters, but sometimes it can help to just… talk to someone else.”

Stefanos shook his head. All he’d done for the entire evening was talk to others about his situation and it had gotten him nowhere—or, more correctly, it had gotten him here, sitting in a room looking at photos and feeling confused and miserable. At least before he’d done all this talking he’d been, well, still confused, but also filled with hope and wonder and intrigue as he contemplated Nick’s pleasing form and all the infinite possibilities of what might potentially occur between them in the future.

Now, all he could do was try to distract himself from the echoes of all the advice he’d gotten that evening and hope eventually the sting of it all would fade away.

‘ _Okay, maybe it doesn’t work out, and… whatever. That sucks, and you move on_.’

And there, Stefanos thought, lay the trouble. The pattern indicated that, logically, things between he and Nick weren’t going to work out, but Stefanos had no idea why and he certainly had no idea how to move on.

His lips still tingled where they’d been pressed to Nick’s and if he closed his eyes, he could still feel Nick’s warm body against his and Nick’s hand at his hip and tangled in his hair. He could picture Nick’s face so close to his own, eyes fixed on his mouth. The way his own body had hummed and buzzed and felt like it was on fire, but in the best way possible, in a way that made him want more and more and more. It was all he could think about, in fact, and he wasn’t sure he would ever think about anything else again, and he wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to.

Except that thinking about it hurt. Like he was trapped between two boards and someone was slowly squeezing them in closer and closer and closer until his chest ached and he wasn’t at all sure he could breathe.

With that, everything had rushed out of him, Stefanos filling Del Po in on every detail of what had occurred between himself and Nick that evening—the ebb and flow of it all, ending with the look of shocked panic on Nick’s face as he’d pushed Stefanos away and run off into the garden. Each step of it like reliving a waking nightmare, the memories grating at him and raking through his insides like salt in a wound, leaving Stefanos breathless and choking back all the emotions surging through him.

“I think…” Del Po said when Stefanos had finished. “That it is perhaps not so bad as you think. From the sounds of things, he agreed to dance with you without hesitation and even seemed to be enjoying himself, so… I think this means that he finds you interesting enough, no?”

“Yes,” Stefanos said. “Or… I thought so. Maybe. I don’t know. I have no experience with things like relationships or romance or attraction or any of this. But… observational evidence suggested that Nick was, in fact, enjoying our time together. And then…”

_And then I kissed him, and he pushed me aside and ran away, and I have no idea why or what I did to make him dislike me._

“Whatever the case,” he continued. “It has become abundantly clear to me that despite any appearances, my feelings towards Nick are unwelcome. Thus, I need to follow Sascha’s advice to ‘move on’. I am not yet certain of the best method for doing so, however.”

“I… do not think there is an easy solution for this,” Del Po said. “I know that you like things to be… how do you say it… rational, but… In my experience this is not quite how things work when it comes to the way you feel about things.”

Stefanos nodded, then leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. He knew Del Po was correct. Feelings were not rational. Despite his best wishes and his best efforts, Stefanos had never been able to convince himself to instantly brush off a particularly tough loss or to quell his anger and frustration when something in his game was letting him down. He had, however, been able to channel these feelings into something positive and beneficial—something that pushed him forward. With his feelings for Nick, however… well, he didn’t see that there was much benefit that could come out of a relentless yet unreciprocated attraction to another person.

“So…” he said, his voice quiet, even in the comparative stillness of the room. “What should I do?”

Del Po pressed an index finger to his lips, then tipped his head and looked out into the room, considering. He stayed like that for long moments, his face shifting through a series of expressions as he sat in contemplation.

“I wish I could say. I do not…” he shook his head. “It is not to say that I do not have experience with this particular situation, but… I don’t know, Stefanos. It is different for all of us and…”

He lifted his head to fix Stefanos with another reassuring smile. “As I said, I think… well… I think perhaps that Nick does not dislike you as much as you believe he does.”

Stefanos shook his head, his hair coming free from where he’d tucked behind his ear and spilling over his face once again. “No. Nick has made himself clear. He thinks I’m weird and I’m boring. He agreed to dance with me, yes, but I am the one who assumed this meant he would be receptive to my deeper affections. Instead…”

He bit down hard on his lip, the lump of emotions once again rising in his throat and making his voice break around the words. Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill out of him. More emotions he couldn’t control.

It wasn’t rational to cry over this—because his feelings weren’t returned, because someone’s opinion of him was less than favourable. Stefanos had gotten past this years ago. He wouldn’t be able to do what he did if he let such insignificant things as hurt feelings and unrequited affections affect him this profoundly.

Some time ago, in the past, he’d struggled with such things. Insecurities and the fear that people wouldn’t like him had plagued his childhood—not just in the way that he’d learned most people had where they used Instagram to make their lives seem better than they actually were, but in a way that nearly crippled him. He’d spent too much of his life too afraid to show too much of himself; too afraid to get close to people for fear that once they got to know his true self they would find him lacking in some way. He’d judged his ideas too harshly and dismissed them as irrelevant or trivial or foolish before even giving a second thought to them.

Even now, he spent too much time thinking through things from every possible angle, analysing the positives and negatives and gathering as much information as possible before acting. This was his way of protecting himself; taking every precaution to ensure that whatever he said or did or whatever he delivered would be something that people would receive as well as possible.

Tonight, he’d done away with that. He’d finally acted impulsively for once in his life, telling himself to let go of his fears and doubts and to just follow his instincts and see where they took him. He’d taken a risk, and it had left him… here. Hurting inside and out; about to break down in tears out of frustration and anger and sadness.

He lifted his arm and pressed his forehead into his closed fist, eyes squeezed shut, willing his body and mind to quiet and calm and somehow put this entire evening away to somewhere he could still access and learn from the experience, but it might not hurt quite so much.

“Stefanos…” Del Po’s voice was soft as he wrapped an arm around Stefano’s shoulders. Stefanos leaned in, letting his friend comfort him, trying to relax into the soothing presence of another person. Del Po might not have any advice, and he may not be able to solve Stefanos’s problems, but he was here, and he was lending support, and Stefanos appreciated him for that.

The two stayed like that for a long while, the only sounds around them the rhythmic ticking of the analogue clock on the shelf behind them and the faint thump of bass that continued to bleed in from the party outside. Stefanos was tired. His eyes burning with exhaustion and the unshed tears still lingering just at the periphery. He should go to sleep—thank Del Po and excuse himself to his room for a much needed rest. Perhaps all of this would look different in the light of morning, and Stefanos could gain some much needed distance and time to shift his perspective.

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes and setting his laptop aside, lifting it off his lap and lowering it onto the end table beside the sofa. He’d finish with the photos in the morning.

Del Po, too, straightened up, although he didn’t move from his position beside Stefanos on the sofa.

Stefanos gave him a grateful smile, then pushed himself to his feet, reaching his arms over his head to stretch out the deep ache that had started to form in his neck and shoulders. He’d almost certainly wake up stiff and sore in the morning, but hopefully it was nothing that a good workout—channeling his frustrations into a solid gym session and a few hours of hitting—couldn’t fix.

“Del Po, I…” Stefanos started, about to thank his friend for his time and his advice and for being willing to lend a shoulder, when a soft, hesitant tap sounded at the door, so faint that he nearly mistook it for just another pulse of bass from outside.

Another tap followed soon after it, however, this one accompanied by a hushed voice saying, “Stefanos? You there, mate?”

And, for what felt like at least the tenth time that evening, Stefanos found himself gasping for breath, the sound of the familiar voice and unmistakeable accented English knocking the wind out of him like he’d been hit in the sternum with a record-breaking serve, his body almost involuntarily doubling over with the imagined impact of it.

“Stefanos?” This was Del Po, his usually lively blue eyes now laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Okay? After everything that had gone on over the past few hours, Nick showed up out of nowhere and Del Po wanted to know if he was okay? If Stefanos had been able to speak anything at all beyond a whispered, whimpering groan, he was fairly certain his only response would be to inform Del Po that, no, he was not okay, he was the opposite of okay, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he would be okay again for a rather long time.

Instead, he collapsed back down to the sofa, pressing himself into the cushions as hard as he was able.

“Do you… want me to answer the door?” Del Po asked, and Stefanos immediately shook his head.

“No, I—"

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk to me,” Nick said, his voice low and calm and sensual and beautiful, and Stefanos didn’t want that sound to send his mind spinning or cause little tingling pulses to shoot throughout his entire body, but it seemed that when it came to Nick, what Stefanos wanted to happen and what actually happened were on opposite sides of the spectrum.

Stefanos took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to speak with conviction and keep his voice from trembling. “I…hypothesise that avoidance would be best. I should… I think I will ask him to leave.”

“Hm,” Del Po said, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Perhaps. But… Stefanos, I did not think you were one to concede a match before you’ve even won a game.”

At Stefanos’s clear look of confusion, Del Po’s smile softened a bit and he continued. “It is like this, no? Both times you spoke with Nick today things did not end as you wished. But! If we look at this in terms of points won, this means you are only down 0 - 30 in the first game of the first set. There is plenty of time to turn things around.”

“Ah,” Stefanos said, giving Del Po a sharp nod as he picked up his analogy. “I do understand what you mean. However—”

“I don’t blame you if you don’t want to see me,” Nick said. “I mean, I don’t really want to talk to me right now either. So… feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I just wanted to say…”

Nick heaved a deep breath of a sigh, the sound audible even through the heavy, solid wood door. “I’m a dick.”

And… Stefanos struggled to find anything polite to say in response beyond a harsh agreement with Nick’s assertion. He had nothing. Probably, he should just force out a sharp “I know” or “I concur” and leave it at that.

Another long silence, Nick clearly waiting for Stefanos to respond, to say anything. But what was there to say, really?

“Okay,” Stefanos’s voice was quiet as he forced the word out against the boulder that had once again built up in his throat.

“Okay,” Nick answered. “So… Can I come in? I mean, I’ll leave if that’s what you want, but your girl Sakkari said I should explain, and I want to explain, but if you really don’t want to speak with me ever again, I respect that. Hell, I _commend_ that. You probably shouldn’t.”

Stefanos wasn’t sure he had the energy to listen to whatever explanation Nick had on offer. More than that, he was highly uncertain of his ability to say anything at all to Nick without completely falling apart, and he had a feeling that uncontrollable crying would be yet another item on Nick’s list of ‘things that make Stefanos Tsitsipas an unattractive weirdo’.

“I… do not think that you and I seeing one another again this evening is the best course of action.”

“Oh, no. It’s a fucking terrible idea. The worst,” Nick replied. “But the way I look at it, we can either sit down and talk this out and make peace now or we can just leave all of this unresolved and go around feeling like shit indefinitely, so…”

He wanted to say no. To tell Nick he was too tired, and he just wanted to be alone and sort out his brain and his emotions and his body and all of it—get everything back into proper working order and focus on tennis and what was important. He’d go to bed and wake up and in the morning there wouldn’t be a party and twinkle lights and music and Nick Kyrgios standing in his back garden looking like something out of the pages of one of these fairy tales they seemed to all be living in for the past weeks, and it would all be okay again. They’d resume normality and everything would be fine and Stefanos would look back on this night like it was some kind of bizarre, half-remembered dream.

But Nick was right, and so was Del Po. He couldn’t hide away in here forever, no matter how strongly he desired it. His biggest priority in life was his tennis career, and that career necessitated being in proximity to Nick Kyrgios. He needed to get things resolved so he could clear his head and sort out his feelings and process things rather than living under the crushing weight of it all until his whole life caved beneath the pressure.

He flicked a glance over to Del Po, who rewarded him with an encouraging smile and a thumb’s up.

‘ _Love thirty down_ ,’ Stefanos thought to himself.

His father had always taught him to fight for every point. To keep believing he could win until the very end. Stefanos was a believer and he was a fighter and he wasn’t a quitter. No matter how many times he got knocked down on the court, he got right back up and tried harder the next time.

He forced himself to return Del Po’s smile, then took a deep, steadying breath, climbed to his feet, and pulled open the door.


	14. Nick

Music version:  


Non-music version:  


**Download** :  
Music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/e9qaacjc6djxo7y/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter13_music.mp3?dl=0) [17.1 MB, 00:36:58]  
Non-music version: [mp3 and streaming](https://www.dropbox.com/s/zcbwnc0rde0v3vh/Tennis%20RPF_Our%20Own%20Kind%20of%20Music_Chapter13.mp3?dl=0) [11.5 MB, 00:34:17]

Nick stood staring at the closed door—solid wood painted with gold trim—that, according to his best guess at Maria’s directions through Sascha’s confusing as fuck house, had to lead to whatever the ‘Tape Room’ was.

In truth, he had been hoping that when he reached the house he’d find it locked. Then at least he could have said he gave it his best effort and vowed to call Stefanos tomorrow. Instead, because apparently the universe had finally decided karma was a thing and Nick owed a bank vault full of debt, the latch slid open easily and Nick had found himself wandering through the dark and quiet and seemingly deserted house. Not so much as a sound drifted out from anywhere, the residents clearly either out in the garden celebrating or tucked up in their rooms sleeping soundly.

Except, allegedly, Stefanos.

He leaned forward to press his ear against the door. It didn’t sound like anyone was inside. If they were, they certainly weren’t making a lot of noise about it. He was fairly sure this was the right room, but he also didn’t need to bust in on someone while they were sleeping or god knew what else.

His knock on the door was the barest tap of his knuckles against the wood, but the sound still echoed down the corridors of the house as loudly as if he’d just run in and started tossing the cookware around the kitchen.

A pause, and then he thought he heard a shuffling noise inside the room. Which was… good. At least someone was responding. Ideally Stefanos, but if not, he at least hoped that whoever it was would forgive him for disturbing them long enough to point him in the direction of where Stefanos might be.

The noise stopped then, although Nick could now see a shift in the sliver of light he hadn’t noticed creeping out under the doorframe. So… at least someone was home.

“Stefanos? You there, mate?” He almost whispered the words, his voice pitched low in yet another attempt to not disturb the peace of the house. This time, he was met with more shuffling and the sound of hushed voices in conversation. Interesting. If Stefanos _was_ inside, then he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk to me,” Nick said, doing his best to keep his voice calm, although his entire body was keyed up and on edge.

More voices from inside, and Nick closed his eyes and pressed in closer, trying to discern if one of them belonged to Stefanos.

The words were faint, drifting to Nick through the door in bits and pieces, not enough for him to put together what was being said. He did, however, catch Stefanos’s name. And… that was good. At least it meant that Stefanos was definitely inside.

It also meant that Stefanos was actively not responding to Nick. Not that Nick blamed him. And, technically Nick had done what he said he’d do… he’d gone to speak with Stefanos. If Stefanos didn’t want to speak with him, well, that wasn’t on Nick.

Or, well, it was, but… there wasn’t a lot Nick could do about it now.

Except, of course, actually apologise. Stefanos didn’t need to respond and he didn’t need to accept the apology and he didn’t even need to speak to Nick ever again, but that didn’t mean Nick didn’t at least owe him the apology and explanation. Probably, it was safer if it was delivered from the other side of a door, considering every time he’d gotten within a metre of Stefanos throughout the evening he’d apparently lost his fucking mind.

“I don’t blame you if you don’t want to see me,” Nick said, raising his voice to something closer to his normal speaking volume now, just to make sure Stefanos could hear him. “I mean, I don’t really want to talk to me right now either. So… feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I just wanted to say…”

He sucked in a deep breath then blew it out with a loud sigh.

_Just fucking say it, Kygs. You know it’s the goddamn truth._

“I’m a dick.”

Seconds dragged out to minutes, with nothing but silence from the other side of the door. Nick thought about just trying the handle to see if it was open, but for one thing, he didn’t need to freak Stefanos out even more than he already had done that evening by barging in more-or-less uninvited, and for another thing, the door opened inward and he definitely didn’t need to cap the night off by busting Stefanos in the face with a door. So, he waited. Stefanos would respond, or he wouldn’t. All Nick could do was give him the space.

When Stefanos finally answered, the sound—a simple “okay,”—was so soft that Nick wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it.

“Okay?” Nick repeated, framing the word as a question, unsure if he’d heard Stefanos correctly or what to make of the response. “So… Can I come in? I mean, I’ll leave if that’s what you want. Your girl Sakkari said I should explain and I want to explain, but if you really don’t want to speak with me ever again, I respect that. Hell, I _commend_ that. You probably shouldn’t.”

Another long silence before Stefanos spoke, louder this time, although Nick could hear the tremor behind his voice.

“I… do not think that you and I seeing one another again this evening is the best course of action.”

And wasn’t that the fucking truth?

“Oh, no. It’s a fucking terrible idea. The worst,” Nick replied. “But the way I look at it, we can either sit down and talk this out and make peace now or we can just leave all of this unresolved and go around feeling like shit indefinitely, so…”

‘ _So, tell me to go away. That you’ve heard my apology and you don’t accept it. That I’m the worst. That you just got caught up in the lights and the atmosphere and the wedding and all the bullshit and you realise now that kissing me was a stupid mistake and we should never, ever, ever think about being together._ ’ Nick wanted to shout it at Stefanos; to at the very least think it at him so hard that he could somehow implant the idea into his head as though it was his own.

But he heard Maria’s words in his head as clearly as if she was standing here, arms crossed, fixing him with that glare. ‘ _At least give him the chance to make his own decision before you decide you know what’s best and make the choice for him_.’

And so, once again, he waited. Prepared himself for when Stefanos’s smart, rational brain inevitably kicked in and he told Nick to get out of his fucking house and never speak to him again.

* * *

Nick was still contemplating whether or not he should just assume Stefanos had made the correct decision and leave, when the door he was still leaning against swung open, causing him to nearly tumble arse-over-tit into the room.

He didn’t thankfully, somehow managing to twist his body around and stop himself, his elbow slamming painfully into the door frame in the process, sending a tingling numbness down his arm.

“Ow, fuck,” he yelled on instinct, yanking his arm back and shaking his hand in front of him, trying to get some of the feeling back into his fingers. “Warn a bro next time, will you?”

“Sorry, I…”

Nick looked up to find Stefanos staring at him with wide, dark eyes, his body stiff and tense, no trace of the easy, beautiful smile on his face. He looked young and small and scared, and Nick absolutely hated it.

He stepped backward, moving away from the door frame and back into the corridor, giving Stefanos some space, then held up one hand. “No. My bad, I…” He forced himself to give Stefanos a cheeky grin. “So… is that a ‘Sure, Kygs, make yourself at home’ then, or…?”

Stefanos didn’t say anything, but he did step to the side, opening up a path for Nick to slide past him into the small room.

The walls, painted a dazzling white that almost gleamed in the light thrown from the overhead fixture, were lined with shelves that looked like they were supposed to be bookcases, but held very few actual books. Mostly, they were home to scattered bits of computer equipment and what looked like video gear, a stack of hard drives and actual burned CDs or DVDs in neatly arranged plastic cases, and a whole section piled with what seemed to be various types of athletic and kinesio tape. To the far side, in a blank space amidst the shelves, a decent sized LED flatscreen was mounted to the wall. Across from that sat a dark wood end table and a cream-coloured sofa, the upholstery worn shiny with age and use.

It also, Nick noted, contained the lanky figure of Juan Martín del Potro. Ah. So that’s who had been the owner of the second voice in the conversation. Yeah. He could just about place it now that he had the visual to connect to the sound.

“I… was just leaving,” Del Po said, easing himself off the sofa with all the grace of someone whose joints weren’t quite up to fast movements just yet. He gave Nick a polite smile and nod, then slid past him to lean in close and whisper something in Stefanos’s ear. Nick had no idea what he said, but whatever it was seemed to help, Stefanos giving a brusque nod and straightening up—as though he’d just gotten a word of encouragement from his doubles partner before a particularly big service game.

“Have a pleasant evening, Del Po,” Stefanos said. “And… thank you. I…”

Del Po held up one hand. “Do not speak of it. Please.” He turned to face them both, leaning against the doorframe. “Good night to you both.”

With that, he disappeared out the door, leaving Nick and Stefanos completely alone together for the first time that evening.

And oh… fuck… Nick was _not_ prepared.

They stood there, staring at one another, neither of them moving for what felt like years. Stefanos still hovered by the door, one hand on the latch as if he wasn’t sure whether to close it tight to give this conversation some privacy or leave it open in case he needed to run down the hall screaming for help.

Honestly, with the way things had gone for the entire night, Nick didn’t blame him.

Nick decided to sit, settling down into the sofa and taking a minute to appreciate how the cushions were somehow just the right level of broken-in where they were comfortable without any kind of weird springs poking you in places you didn’t need poked.

“You can sit,” Nick said, patting the seat beside him and trying once again that evening to give Stefanos what he hoped passed for a reassuring smile. “I’m on my best behaviour. I promise.”

Stefanos didn’t exactly look reassured, but at least he released his grip on the door handle, easing the door shut with a soft click, and stepped into the room.

He hovered just beside the sofa, staring down at it as his eyes scanned back and forth over the cushions, from the middle seat directly beside Nick, where it would certainly be less awkward to have a conversation, but they’d be in a dangerously close physical proximity, to the safer option on the far end, where they’d at least be out of touching distance. He settled on the second option, perching himself on the edge of the sofa cushion nearest the door, his arms and legs tucked up tight to his body, making his usually lanky form look almost impossibly small.

“So…” Nick said after a few more drawn out beats of silence. “Yeah. I… This whole night was just… fucktangular. I shouldn’t have… that dance and all of it, it was just… Look. I’m sorry how all of this went down. Believe me, I didn’t want any of this shit to happen in the first place, so—”

“I’m sorry I kissed you,” Stefanos said, the words rushing out of him. “Thank you for inviting me to enjoy the party with you and for agreeing to dance with me. I… misinterpreted the intention behind those actions. I’m not… I don’t have much experience with these things, so… Sascha said that if you see someone and you like them, you just have to go for it, because you never know what might happen. So… I did. And… I’m sorry. I thought perhaps you might feel the same way, but…”

Stefanos bent his head to rub at his eyes, his elbows resting on his knees, his whole body trembling as he forced out his next words with a shaky breath.

“But… now I know. So… I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.”

Nick heard his voice break around the last few words. He hated that sound. Hated that he’d been the cause of it. He wanted to gather Stefanos up in his arms and hold him close in some ill-advised attempt to soothe all the pain he’d already caused. It wouldn’t work, he knew. It would only make things worse. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to do it.

“You’re not…” Nick started, then paused. “Fuck.”

And, honestly, what the fuck was Nick supposed to say in response to _that_? Stefanos taking all the blame on himself when it should be Nick apologising for his shitty behaviour. For the fact that his behaviour was always shitty, even when he didn’t mean it to be. Probably, that was how he should have kicked off this whole conversation.

‘ _So, Stef. You know how every time we spoke tonight, I was super fucking rude to you even though you didn’t deserve it? Yeah, well, that’s basically me, so you probably want to steer clear because this is going to happen a lot._ ’ The problem solved itself really.

Except that Nick wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the problem solved. Despite everything he knew he should do and everything he knew he _shouldn’t_ feel, he liked Stefanos. Genuinely liked him. He was super smart and driven, moving through life with a positive attitude and a deep curiosity about everything around him. Nick should hate it, but he didn’t. He found Stefanos fascinating, and he wanted to get to know him better.

Problem was, that in getting to know him better, Nick was almost certainly going to ruin all the things about him that he liked. They were opposites in the worst way—Stefanos all the things everyone always told Nick he should be—and Nick knew they’d both end up regretting it if he didn’t break this thing off before it could get started.

“You didn’t do anything,” he said, the words coming out on a long breath of a sigh. “I mean… I don’t hate you or anything like that. Like… I wasn’t kidding when I said you were a weird dude. You _are_ a weird dude. I… actually really like that you’re a weird dude. But… I don’t know. You kissing me really freaked me the fuck out, and I reacted badly and I shouldn’t have. Not because I didn’t like it, because, damn, I really fucking liked it. But… you and I… this whole vibe we have going on. It’s not going to work.”

Another long drag of silence, and Nick swore he could see Stefanos’s brain working, the gears spinning as he took in Nick’s rapid-fire stream of information.

He looked up, his eyes meeting Nick’s, and it was everything Nick could do to hold that gaze and not look away.

“How can you be certain?”

“How can I… what? Certain? That this will never work?” He gestured between the two of them with his index finger. “Bro, how much time do you have, because if I give you the whole list we might still be here next week.”

“But you said that you … like me?” Stefanos asked. “To clarify, you like me in the way that I’ve observed people tend to mean ‘like’ when speaking about physical attraction and potential romantic inclinations?”

Nick had to stop for a minute and process what the fuck Stefanos had just said. His head was spinning with everything that had gone on over the past few hours, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was following Stefanos’s unnecessarily complicated way of speaking, but he just about managed to figure it out. Probably.

“Yes?” he said, the word coming out as more of a question than he intended. “I mean… okay, I only like thirty percent know what the fuck you just said—which is definitely on that list of reasons why this isn’t going to work, let me tell you—but… if you mean do I think you are ridiculously hot and for whatever reason, even though I know it’s the worst idea I’ve ever fucking had, I cannot stop thinking about all of the filthy things I want to do to your beautiful body, then, yeah. I like you.”

“Okay.” Stefanos nodded, his face flickering into the closest thing that Nick had seen to a smile from him for most of the evening. “So, if you feel this way about me and I feel a similar way about you—I think. I’m not sure. It’s impossible to make a judgement on this as I am incapable of fully feeling your feelings and also, I am uncertain of what I, myself, am feeling as this is all new to me—then… I do not understand why you believe that we should not pursue some type of consensual relationship, sexual or otherwise.”

And… Nick had to suck in a breath and bite down hard on his tongue at that because, seriously? Had Stefanos just… tossed that idea right on out there like it was a perfectly regular thing to say? Nick actually had to grab onto the arm of the sofa to keep from throwing himself on Stefanos and fucking him right here and now.

“Nick?”

Stefanos sounded concerned, which meant… well, it obviously meant that Nick looked as absolutely wrecked as he felt. He flicked his eyes open to find Stefanos peering at him, liquid brown eyes now only a few metres away.

Nick’s body tensed and his mind spun with memories of how he’d lost himself in those eyes and the way that body had moved against his own and the silk-soft hair against his cheek and threading through his fingers and that smell and that mouth against his own and damn Stefanos was one hell of a kisser and he’d really very much like to find out exactly how good he was, at kissing and a whole lot more.

“Look,” Nick said instead, shifting away from Stefanos and pressing himself hard against the arm of the sofa. “I’m… well. Let’s face it. You’re you and I’m… me. Like… God you’re so fucking _good_. You love your life and practice and travel. You have all this potential and you’re going to be one of the greatest players tennis has ever seen, but only if you stay far, far away from me. Because I’m lazy. I hate practice. I think travel is the fucking worst. If I had my way, I’d just chill with my mates back in Oz and drink and play basketball and fuck off all day. I’ll drag you down and I’ll fuck you up and I’ll ruin your life. You have to see that.” 

“I do not feel compelled to agree. In fact, I would very much like to refute your statement. You yourself have said that you’re one of the best players on tour, and I agree with this. With your excellent service game, you have even more potential than I do to become one of the best in our sport. In fact, I believe that, should our relationship progress to the point that we spend significant amounts of time in one another’s company, it will become mutually beneficial, improving our tennis skills as well as our approach to life off the court.”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body screaming at him to ‘ _just fucking let this happen. A gorgeous, charming, funny, irresistible person is right here, a metre away, basically telling you that they’re absolutely down to fuck, and you’re trying to talk them out of it? What the fuck is wrong with you, Kygs?_ ’

But he was trying to do the right thing; to be the good guy; to be the voice of reason just one fucking time. He needed his brain and his dick and his whole entire self to just fucking stop and think and say the right thing—to convince this beautiful, beautiful boy that they were going to be bad together; that this was wrong; that he could make so many choices for his life that were so much better than this.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said, the words coming out rough and raw, his whole body tight as he forced them from his too dry throat.

“I hypothesise otherwise,” Stefanos said, voice closer now, the sound loud in Nick’s ears.

“And anyway,” he continued, “there is no way of determining the validity of your statement without extensive first-hand testing.”

An involuntary surge of craving and absolute hunger rolled through Nick then, his heartbeat slamming in his ears and his body aching with need, and that, he decided, was enough for now.

Stefanos was young, and hell, so was he, but they were both adults and they could make their own choices in life. He’d laid out all the ugly truths about who he was and who he wasn’t and whatever Stefanos decided, Nick would be down for it. God knew that when this thing went wrong, and Nick had no doubt that it would go wrong, Nick was going to be the one who took all the blame for it, but right then, in that moment, with every single piece of his body screaming for him to just fucking kiss this boy already, he didn’t think he cared.

He flicked his eyes open to find Stefanos smiling at him; a true, genuine smile that lit up his face and reached all the way to the depths of his brown eyes. Nick took it all in, the spot of pale pink high up on Stefanos’s cheekbones, the faint stubble darkening cheeks and chin, the dark sweep of eyelashes against skin tanned gold from the sun.

Stefanos had slid in closer and Nick joined him, closing the distance between them, their knees bumping together, the centimetres of space between them flooded with their shared heat.

“You’re really okay with this?” Nick asked, once more giving Stefanos a chance to change his mind.

“Yes. In fact, I believe that I would like it very much.”

A beat, silence dragging between them, their eyes locked together.

This was stupid. Idiotic. Possibly the worst idea Nick had ever had in his entire life.

“So,” he said, the words a low, rumbling murmur in his chest. “Should we pick up tonight where we left off then?”

Stefanos’s eyes went wide at this, and he shifted backward, pulling away from Nick slightly and shaking his head. Nick let him go, ready to step back and give Stefanos some space even with the pure arousal surging through his body. Stefanos was new to all of this, and Nick had already been enough of an inconsiderate twat that evening. He could always… find somewhere to take care of things. Ask Stefanos if he’d give him this room for a few minutes—it wouldn’t take long with the state he was already in—or point him to the nearest place he could grab the coldest shower known to man.

“Okay,” Nick said. “We don’t have to…”

“Are you sure?” Stefanos asked, and now Nick desperately wanted to kiss him for an entirely different reason, because was _he_ really over here checking in on _Nick_ right now? Honestly, this boy was too good for words, and Nick _definitely_ didn’t deserve him.

“It’s just…” Stefanos continued, biting at his bottom lip, the pink flush on his cheeks deepening to almost cherry red. “I don’t… I don’t really think I like dancing. Or… parties… So…”

And, Nick couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him at that. “Who said anything about dancing?”

He shifted in closer again, sliding to the edge of the sofa and angling his body to tuck one arm around Stefanos’s waist, slipping it up and under the edges of his suit jacket. The other he lifted up to skim against Stefanos’s cheek, fingers pushing the stray locks of his hair behind his ears. He let the touch linger, thumb resting on Stefanos’s cheekbone, stroking the spot where his hot blush was the deepest for a few seconds before wrapping his hand around the back of Stefanos’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

Nick tried to be gentle, soft press of lips and light sweep of tongue against teeth until he felt Stefanos’s mouth part open, but Stefanos seemed to have other ideas. He pressed in closer, deepening the kiss into something greedy and filthy and utterly carnal. Nick let him, kissing him back just as hard, his body screaming out for more. The kiss led to another and another and another, everything between them all tongue and teeth and hands and heat until Nick’s vision went black around the edges, his nerves on edge as he tried to kickstart his brain, to stop before this went somewhere they couldn’t come back from.

He pulled back, breathless and gasping for air, and opened his eyes to see Stefanos doing the same—sucking in deep, open-mouthed breaths, just as he did on the tennis court during a particularly demanding match. He stared at Nick, eyes wide, more pupil than iris, his skin even more flushed than before.

“I think…” Nick managed to choke out between breaths. “We can make our own kind of music.”


	15. Outtakes (and airplanes!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because podfic isn't as easy as we make it sound, and, honestly, we spend most of our lives dealing with airplanes. Haru takes a much different approach to this than Drizzit does. We'll let you decide whose is healthier.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Delpo Diary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28315248) by [eafay70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eafay70/pseuds/eafay70)




End file.
